


Soul Bound

by Nightheart



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Act 2, Divergent Storyline, F/M, soulbonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 54
Words: 181,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightheart/pseuds/Nightheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Soulbond has been considered a Gift of the goddess Mythal since before the ancient days of Arthalan, and is the only remaining blessing bestowed upon the Elvhen by their missing Gods.</p>
<p>Just because you have a soulbonded mate doesn't necessarily mean you're going to like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

"The other mage is down," the deep, gravely voice noted with dry detachment on the edge of her consciousness as the world around her faded out.  
  
The next thing she knew she was staring up into brilliant sunlight, lightly shaded by a blobby-shaped thing that resolved itself into the face of Fenris. The pepper-burn of a healing potion and the acid tang of adrenaline lingered on her tongue. Her other senses clocked in a short moment later, the salt-scent of the air, the sound of wind and seagulls... they had been traveling the wounded coast with Hawke, clearing out a knot of bandits at Avaline's request. The number of bandits had been much larger than they had been anticipating, and Merrill's own magic was not as strong as it normally was because she was taking one of her mandatory "breaks" from the blood magic in order to purge her system and keep her magic healthy.  
  
 _:My, his eyes are very green,:_ she thought, looking up into them with an almost spellbound fascination.  
  
The eyes of a Shade Spirit were beautiful and terrible, filled with ancient knowledge but devoid of anything resembling empathy or an ability to connect to others. The ever-changing swirls and vortexes of rainbow colors that characterized Thier eyes at close gaze were beautiful, with a pulling fascination that could capture the unwary. Because of exposure to such uncanny dangerous beauty, Merrill always thought that a regular person's eyes looked bland and dull with its single color and lack of mysterious depth. Suddenly she was coming to think she may have been mistaken to dismiss the ordinary so easily. Much like his personality, Fenris' eyes were sharp and a little dark, but full of a tenacious vitality. It really was quite fascinating, she could sort of feel her self start to fall into them, like if she just let go she'd drown in their green depths and discover a treasure there so precious that it would change everything. All she had to do was--  
  
She blinked as if awakening from a semi-trance, and shook her head to clear it of the strange thoughts that had moved into her mind. She was accustomed to strange thoughts, but really there were limits! She figured that Fenris was definitely one of them.   
  
_:That last fellow must have hit me on the head harder than I thought,:_ she said to herself.  
  
It was _Fenris_ after all, proud sword-carrying member of the Mage-haters-for-life clan. As such he was about as likely a source of romance for her as a tree stump. In fact, given the options, Merrill figured she was more likely to woo the tree stump than she was the Tevinter fugitive. Merrill's mind obligingly supplied the image for her silly whimsy, herself and a tree stump inside a Circle of Bonding with Marethari overseeing the vows and tying the ribbon around her hand connecting to an outreaching branch.  
  
 _:Still easier to imagine than me and him,:_ Merrill thought with an inward giggle.   
  
_**((A.N. And still a better love story than Twilight!))**_  
  
 _:Oh, but then all of the other trees in the forest would be jealous I suppose,:_ her thoughts continued on, wending merrily down their usual strange twists and turns. She had an image of herself having to fight an epic battle with every tree in the forest, trying to crowd in on their love. _:And there's not a clan big enough in all the world to marry the whole forest... That must be why Elvhen are not supposed to frolic in the woods.:_  
  
"Find your feet, witch," he commanded gruffly, interrupting her thoughts. "It is time we were off."  
  
"You alright, Daisy?" Varric called over from where he was carefully working away at the lock of a chest.  
  
"Just fine," she called back reassuringly to her friend as she looked around for her staff.  
  
"Your magic seems as though it was... less effective than usual," Fenris said frankly. "If you are weakened, you should inform the party so that we can adjust our strategy accordingly."  
  
As usual, Merrill wasn't able to tell if he was scolding her or trying to express something akin to concern (well, for Fenris anyway). She'd say probably both, but for Fenris to be concerned for her would probably cause a rift in the fabric of the universe.  
  
"Och, dinna fash yerself!" Merrill snapped, a rare flash of irritation overtaking her. "Yeh ken I'll be after handling my own affairs. I dinna tell ye how tae swing yer sword mon, I dinna naed yer advise on how tae handle my spells!"  
  
"Your accent," he noted.   
  
"Oh!" she startled, dismayed. "So sorry... it just slipped out there. I'll stop talking."  
  
Now everyone was starting at her. She didn't feel like explaining to them the recent and increasing irritability she'd been developing over the last several months during her regular periods of "fasting." To do blood magic correctly and not to succumb to it meant being very careful, keeping a strict regimen, and above all maintaining ironclad control. Merrill had been consumed by her progress with the mirror the last few days.. or had they been weeks? She was starting to loose track of time.  
  
 _:Time... and other things...:_ she thought with a guilty flush.  
  
If she was going to court the dangers of blood magic and not turn out like Fenris repeatedly said she would at every opportunity (belaboring the point really) she needed to be vigilant. She had slipped this last week or so, the progress she was making on the mirror had pushed everything else to the background in importance. She didn't sleep much, but it seemed that she didn't really need to sleep as much anymore. She lost track of day or night, and left her work reluctantly and only to do the bare minimum to keep up her body. It was only when she'd run out of her last scrap of food and her stomach was twisting in agony that Merrill had come out of her semi-trancelike state and awoken fully to her condition.   
  
The mess of her quarters and the fact that she could tell by looking at her body that she'd dropped a lot of weight had felt like a shock of cold water, one that had a chill that lingered even now. She was slipping. She couldn't afford to slip, not with a Fade Spirit involved in the mix. Feeding her body had been the first step, and she had resolved at that moment that a good long fast from the blood magic to reassert her control over herself was in order. Hawke's mission could not have come at a better time. Left to herself, the mirror called her with its unfinished state, silently reprimanding her for not working harder to aid her people and recover thier lost history. Cutting herself off from the extra boost of power that blood magic gave her was becoming much harder than it had ever been.  
  
"Can I help you?" she prompted as Fenris crossed his arms over his breastplate and stared down at her in disapproval.   
  
"You've lost weight, witch."  
  
"Why Fenris, that almost sounded like concern," she said, feeling just a mite uncharitable in the face of his thinly-veiled disdain for her. "Is the sky about to fall do you think? Maybe the Fade will open up and we'll all be invaded by six-foot fluffy, tap-dancing bunnies?"  
  
"I will not be sidetracked by your comments, and no-one is laughing," he said in reply as he paced around her. She looked up at him from where she sat on the sandy ground in exasperation.  
  
"That sing acapella," she finished firmly. After all, the notion was too good a one not to share.  
  
In reply Fenris crouched down in front of her and raked his eagle-eyed gaze over her, scowling in concentration as he took in every feature minutely, searching for something, probably signs that she was loosing hr grip on her blood magic. That was when it happened.   
  
Merrill met his clear, green gaze for a moment and suddenly the world shifted. The spirit part of her thumped like a large drum, pulsing in resonance to... to him. A strange electric hot-cold wave washed over her and the spirit-part of her, the part that was made of fire and magic and soul stretched beyond its cage of flesh and reached, trying to form the connection to the other part of itself that it recognized, that part that it needed to be complete. And she could feel him, the essence of him reaching back toward her. For just an instant she saw him soften, his face taking on a strange vulnerability that was completely at odds with everything she knew of his snarky, snarling independence. Merrill's own natural inclination to reach out, to soothe and nurture, tried to assert itself but then in a flash she was reminded of all she would loose, all her people would loose, if it happened. The price of her magic belonged to her and her alone, but a soulbond caused a connection in which everything was _shared._ If it was allowed to form she would have to give up everything; her mirror, her Bargain with the spirit, all she had worked for. In a panic, Merrill yanked her essence back and stuffed it back inside of herself by resorting to an old mage-trick to bring about instant calm, then broke the connection of their gaze... by yelping like something had bit her and scrambling away from him in a blind panic.  
  
"Are you okay?" Hawke called over from where he was currently sifting through a pile of rubble in hopes of finding something worth keeping. Merrill had darted to the other side of the camp as though Fenris had just tried to light her on fire.  
  
"I, uh, yes! Yes. I just, um... thought I saw something..." she said distractedly, gulping in deep breaths and trying to calm her racing heart.  
  
 _:Mythal preserve me! It cannot be, it simply cannot!:_ she thought in a terrified panic. _:By the sacred bones of my Ancestors, this is... it just **can't** be!:_  
  
Oh she recognized it of course. She was First to a Keeper, she knew the old lore better than any other Dalish would or could. Many of the ancient elves fondest stories and legends had centered around the Vi'shai Anah, the soul-bonded mates. She was a follower of the Goddess Mythal herself, had Her valaslin markings tattooed over her face as a reminder of her devotion, and it was said that the soul-bond was a direct gift of the Goddess to both reward and protect her Chosen. Merrill could not imagine what about her or him could possibly have alerted the attention of the non-existant Goddess, or why she might single them out for the (dubious) honor.  
  
 _:Dubious and **unwelcome** honor!:_   
  
Merrill peeked back over at Fenris who had risen back to his feet and was now attending to the grim task of ensuring that all of those bandits they had killed were truly dead and not faking it; he was methodically spearing the tip of his longsword point-first, down through their throats, delivering instant death if any still lived and ensuring those dead stayed that way. He didn't take enjoyment in the task, but he didn't seem particularly affected by it either, it always made Merrill feel more than a little ill to watch him. He didn't have any expression at all aside of his usual, frowny face.   
  
_:Mythal preserve me!:_ Merrill repeated to herself, a fresh wave of panic overtaking her. _:Not that I've ever questioned Her infinite wisdom but... Fenris?! No, there must be some mistake. My magic might be acting up. Or maybe we're close to a thin spot in the veil. Or... or maybe I've had too much sun, or not enough exercise or... or anything. Please, please **please** don't let this be real. Not that I dislike him but... but he's so **mean** , and... bad tempered and I'm afraid he'd rip my heart out.:_  
  
In more ways than the literal sense, though he was one of the only people she'd ever seen who could manage it.  
  
"Are you sure you're okay Daisy?" Varric asked as he walked over to her.   
  
"I! Oh! Um, just, j-just fine, really! Oh my, that salt-sea air is really doing me wonders, it feels so nice to get out of the house!"  
  
She just knew that Varricc wasn't convinced by her forced cheer.  
  
"It's just that, you do look pale," he pursued.  
  
"And skinny," Hawke chimed in.   
  
"Nothing that a warm meal and a day out..." Merrill paused, a notion occurring to her.  
  
There was only one person in the whole wide world that Merrill could trust with something like this. Her teacher would know! Keeper Marethari would be able to tell her that this was all some kind of weird hallucination brought on by too little sleep and too much blood magic, if she just lay off the mirror a while everything would go back to normal and she wouldn't have to be soul-bonded to a grumpy mage-hater. Not that she didn't respect Fenris (despite his unfortunate personality). He was a fine warrior, the way he could cleave his way through enemies, his strong arms swinging his blade, muscles rippling, so _manly_ and supple--  
  
"Noooo!" Merrill slapped her cheeks with both hands and shook her head violently to erase the traitorous thoughts already trying to creep their way in.  
  
"Um..." Hawke said. "We've known each other a long time now, and I can say that you're acting stranger than usual."  
  
"You're right!" Merrill agreed, an epiphany born of desperation dawning on her. "Hawke! You're right, we have known each other a long time! It's been _years_ at least... if it we going to be that, surely it would have happened long before now. It's not just something that pops up out of the blue. Och, sure an' yer a lifesaver! I don't know what I was thinking."   
  
"I don't either Merrill, but that's nothing new for me," he replied, sounding amused.  
  
"Are we done here?" Fenris demanded in a bored tone.  
  
She leaped to her feet and hurried off back down the way they had come, relief flooding her and the call of her mirror beckoning to her over the distance. She ignored the three way glance the other men in her party exchanged behind her back.  
  
 _:It's so silly! The very idea is ridiculous,:_ she told herself as they hurried back to Kirkwall. _:It absolutely **can't** be a soulbond. If it were a soulbond it would have happened the instant we first met. All the stories say so, well **almost** all of them anyway. There is that one... well, Valen was never a credited bard anyway so he doesn't count. I definitely don't have a Goddess-bound connection to mister grouchy-gauntlets back there!:_  
  
That was her story and she was sticking to it.


	2. Chapter 2

For once, it was too quiet. Normally he enjoyed the peace and solitude of the place he had made for himself in the abandoned mansion of his former master's vassal, but that night he was filled with a strange restless energy. He had spent the first half of the evening pacing before the fire and drinking some of the finer bottles appropriated from the previous residents store of wine, but to little effect. He felt irritated and out of sorts, restless like a caged beast. Finally, he had decided that what he needed was some fresh air to clear his head, and possibly to be in the company of other people. It was a different kind of solitude but right then he felt that he could use a distraction to help him quiet his restlessness. A short trip over the rooftops to evade patrols by the city guard (why not help out Aveline since she was helping him?) and the gangs of thugs in the rougher areas of town (there were rooftop thugs too, but they were smaller in number and more easily handled or evaded) led him to the street in Lowtown where the Hanged Man was.   
  
_:It is unusually busy tonight...:_ he noted to himself.   
  
It seemed that a ship full of sailors native to the area had pulled into port and decided to make the Hanged Man their watering hole for the evening. The sailors had brought their own musical accompaniment, a set of remarkably good amateurs from either Rivaini or Eastern Tevinter, as it had the drums and intricate guitar picking characterized by the area. Isabella was having to struggle to keep her usual post by the bar open, as she was being jostled by several sailors for the honor of being closest to the watering hole. He was about to call a greeting when Isabella turned with two bottles of wine (one in each hand) and made her way back over to their usual table.   
  
_:Looks like it's Ladies Night Out, I suppose that explains why I wasn't invited,:_ he thought as their usual table had been commandeered and occupied by a small party consisting of Isabella, Merrill and Aveline, with Orana meekly slinking on one side and two more female guards on the other side.  
  
"Isabella, I strongly advise against this!" Avaline scolded when the pirate set the bottle merrily down in front of Merrill, with that wide smile she had on whenever she was about to do something naughty and fun and troublesome... and get away with it.  
  
 _:Merrill and wine? Not a good combination,:_ Fenris thought, dread at the thought of what that mage might do if she lost all her inhibitions. He wasn't sure he wanted to fight demons that night, he was restless but he wasn't that restless.  
  
"Oh lighten up, captain," Isabella brushed off, clearly having had more than a few already. "Let my little kitten have her fun. Besides, you heard her say it... I wanna see it."  
  
"I hardly think that the Hanged Man is a designated elvhen frolicking area under any stretch of the imagination," Aveline subsided with a grumble as Isabella poured more wine into the cup in front of Merrill with a saucy grin, ignoring the older woman's objections.  
  
"It's so unusual to be able to feel the breeze on my tummy," Merrill slurred brightly. "Are you sure this is normal clothes to wear to a Naming Day party?"  
  
"Sure I'm sure, kitten!" Isabella said brightly, clearly lying through her teeth. "And happy little Naming Day to _me_!"  
  
"I think you're lying about it being your Naming Day just as an excuse to dress her up in that ridiculous--"  
  
Aveline paused at the wounded, kicked puppy look that Merrill shot her about the clothes Isabella had clearly picked out for her.  
  
"Ridiculously _pretty_ outfit you've... _poured_ her into,"Aveline amended.   
  
"Oh! Do you really like it?" Merrill asked brightly. "It's a lot different from what I usually wear!"  
  
"Yes. Yes it is," Isabella agreed, her grin getting even wider at all of the things she was getting away with that evening.   
  
Fenris stared, and he was not the only one.   
  
_:Isabella...:_ he thought shaking his head.   
  
He didn't know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that the pirate herself had no shame, but she shouldn't go around corrupting the (relatively) innocent into her schemes. But it was an utterly Isabella-like thing to do. Merrill's new clothes consisted of not a while awful lot. The red bodice top was a sleeveless band over her breasts that bared her midriff. Small beaded fringes with tiny golden bell-balls did nothing to disguise the intricate Dalish knotwork tattoos climbing up her belly and down her shoulders and upper arms. Apparently their faces were not the _only_ thing that the Dalish tattooed. The bottom skirt was a collection of thin, filmy cloud- silk scarves, slitted to reveal more knotworks climbing up her thighs like vines over a wall. Granted, in the Tevinter Imperium he had seen bedroom slaves that wore less, but seeing Merrill in such a costume made him want to grab the nearest cloak he could find, throw it over her and hustle her out of there before she caused a riot.  
  
The band in the background began a new song, one with a sort of sensuous beat to it, made for a certain sort of dancing. Isabella's smile got even wider as she heard it, yet more demonic mischief clearly occurring to her.  
  
"I've heard you elves know how to dance," Isabella called over to Merrill. "Let's see it!"  
  
"Here? Now?" Merril asked, clearly caught off guard, and shy. "Like this?"  
  
"It's my Nameday request!" she commanded merrily.  
  
"This can only end in trouble," Aveline muttered.  
  
"Have some more wine, it'll loosen you up," Isabella advised.  
  
 _:Where in the Void is Varric, and why is he not putting a stop to this?:_ Fenris wondered, dismayed as he watched the already tipsy elf down the rest of the wine in her cup like it was nothing more dangerous than tea. He could tell it hit her instantly because she tossed the cup over her shoulder and called out  
  
"Louder!"  
  
The musicians happily obliged, and the rest of the pub all turned in their chairs to watch the spectacle as Merrill stepped up firmly onto the table. He would have thought that, as awkward as Merrill was in the entire rest of her life, she would have been stiff and shy about this, but either the wine was really making her loosen up or she was secretly naturally confident as a dancer, none of her usual awkwardness showed itself when she raised her arms and arched her back into a starting pose.   
  
"Niiice," Isabella encouraged and in reply Merrill sent a tipsy smile and a saucy wink her way.   
  
Whatever else one could say about her, Merrill knew how to work it. She felt the music down in her hips, her body flowed smoothly into the rhythm, writhing as supple and sinuous as a snake. At a dip in the music she fell gracefully to her knees on the tabletop, bent all the way over backwards, hips still moving easily in rhythm while she crooked a finger under Isabella's chin then tugged her by the bodice of her shirt right over top of her, shimmying slowly in time to the music.  
  
 _:Danarius would have paid a small fortune for her,:_ he thought in distant horror as the other patrons in the club called out their appreciation for the show in various ways.   
  
He might detest Merrill and her stupid choices but he was as helpless as any other man in the face of watching two very, very attractive women writhing on a table top together and enjoying it. Merrill pointed Isabella backwards off her and showed off her excellent muscle control as she flowed up sensuously to follow her. The pirate queen, by the looks of things, was having a fine time as Merrill led her up onto her feet, moving to the music, hips swaying sensuously as they both moved together back to front, thier bodies twined together moving sensuously to the music. The rest of the patrons were shouting and whistling and pounding their mugs and a few daring souls tried to get close enough to touch only to be forcibly shoved back by Aveline and the two guards-women.   
  
_:Those two really **are** going to cause a riot,:_ he thought to himself with a heavy inward sigh.   
  
Indeed, the natives were starting to get restless. Several of the more drunken sots took it into their heads to rush at the table and Aveline and her two friends were forced to demonstrate the inadvisability of the maneuver.  
  
 _:Best to nip this in the bud. I know Isabella would enjoy the fight that would ensue anyone trying to lay a hand on her, but I don't fancy the idea of watching a drunken mage try to cast a fire spell. It could end badly. Send that woman to the Void for putting me in this position.:_  
  
Fenris wasn't sure if he meant Merrill or Isabella. Merrill could be a bit of a pushover when it came to things she thought might make one of her friends happy, and Isabella was always willing to use that to amuse herself in a usually harmless fashion (like the time Isabella had convinced Merrill that flying kites along the Wounded Coast was a kirkwallian rite of passage).   
  
Fenris snatched the cloak right off the back of a nearby patron who was already slumped over his table drunk and snoring, and strode towards where the two women were having a marvelous time whipping the whole bar into a frenzy. Isabella, naturally, was quite well aware of her own attractiveness and took an almost malicious delight in what her beauty did to the men around her. Merrill however was blissfully oblivious to all the fuss and the fact that it was centered around her.   
  
"Oh! Fenris!" Merrill called with drunken cheer. "It's a party, you should join us!"  
  
Isabella shot a wickedly amused look over her shoulder, as she stroked a hand over Merrils bared midriff and echoed  
  
"Oh yes, you should join us," in a sultry tone.  
  
Fenris did little more that roll his eyes as the pirate's usual innuendo.  
  
"I think you've had enough fun for one evening," he told the naughty pirate firmly.  
  
As Merrill twirled away from Isabella in the dance, Fenris deftly threw the voluminous cloak over the petite elven woman and adroitly tugged her forward so that she fell over one shoulder, bared feet kicking into the air in front of his torso as she let out an small 'oof!' The look Aveline shot him was one of pure gratitude that said she was much happier at having the situation resolved in a way that did not involve mountains of paperwork for her and her lieutenants.  
  
"Hey!" Isabella pouted. "It's _my_ nameday celebration and you're stealing my present. As the resident pirate, the plundering of booty around here is rightfully my territory."  
  
"Then consider the prevention of unnatural disasters mine," he replied dryly as he carried the tiny woman out over his shoulder.  
  
 _:Really, what is she **thinking**?:_ he grumbled to himself as he carried the little malificar out of the bar.  
  
 _:Oh wait, Isabella is probably **not** thinking. Not with her head anyway.:_  
  
It was not a fact she cared to disguise that the shipless pirate merrily swung in both directions. In Fenris' opinion that was just one more sign that she was merely greedy. One should pick a gender and sleep with it consistently, none of this shilly-shallying about the question.  
  
"Fenris, put me down!" Merrill called from behind him where she hung over his shoulder, her voice muffled by the cloak he'd thrown over her.   
  
He exited the pub and started down the night streets toward the alienage, trusting in the bribes that Varric had been paying out to keep them both safe during his relatively vunerable journey.  
  
"No," he said shortly.   
  
A good deal of her power, he knew, came from contact with the earth beneath her feet. She had power of her own naturally, every mage did, but any additional power he could deny her access to would mean less trouble for him to deal with later.  
  
"Pleeeeease," she wheedled. "I can walk. I walk very well, I promise. I can even dance, why didn't you let me dance? It's been so long since I've danced..."  
  
She sounded so pathetic.  
  
 _:It's her own decision to leave her home and people,:_ he thought, not feeling a bit sorry for her.   
  
"And I promised Isabella I'd dance for her Nameday, I don't have much in the way of presents but I'm a good dancer, don't you think I'm a good dancer? I used to dance all the time back in Ferelden, the trees all really liked my dancing but my Keeper never seemed to approve much. I miss her."  
  
Fenris felt his usual irritation with her spike up at her wistful tone. He had heard of such a thing called homesickness, but as a slave who'd never had a place of his own to feel like he was happy and belonged (until perhaps recently) he couldn't say he'd ever felt the same way. Hearing the longing in her voice just made him irritated with her all over again. Silly chit, turning her back on the ones she loved to go chasing useless history. He just didn't see how something that was so far in the past could be more valuable than the life she had in the present; it wasn't like the past she thought was so damned important was going to change anything _now_. It would be just one more bit of useless trivia, another story to be passed along. How in the world could such a useless thing be worth casting aside a warm home, a clan who loved her, a valued place in the lives of people she clearly cared about? It _wasn't_ , not by his lights anyway.  
  
"Idiot!" he cursed at her, half-tempted to dump her over the side of the harbor, maybe the shock of the cold water would bring her to her senses.  
  
 _:At the very least she might sober up,:_ he thought in dry amusement.  
  
"Fenriiis," she whined. "I want down. Your spiky thingies are digging into my hip."  
  
"Be silent woman," he commanded. "It's still late at night, and the last thing either of us need is to attract the wrong kind of attention. I won't have you lighting us both on fire by trying to cast magic while inebriated."  
  
"I've seen _you_ fight when you're drunk, or mostly there," she argued back in the way that was entirely typical of her. She hated letting him have the last word, it was just too bad for her he was so good at getting it anyway.  
  
"That's different," he replied, jostling her a little on his shoulder and pretending that he didn't think it wasn't funny when she let out another little soft grunt from his treatment. "I only swing a sword and hit people, you control the elemental forces of nature and the raw power of the Fade. There's a great deal more that can go wrong with your process than with mine."  
  
"I'm not going to light us on fire," she pouted wriggling a little to try to get out of his grip.  
  
"Cease your struggling witch, and I'll drop you off the side of the harbor," he said.   
  
"Don't you mean _or_ you'll drop me off the side of the harbor?"  
  
"No."  
  
She stilled obediently. And he was able to carry her back to the alienage without any incident. That fact alone was a testament to all the money that Varricc was likely sinking into keeping the young Dalish mage safe on the streets at night. he rolled his eyes again when he noticed that her door was unlocked and hanging partly open then revised the amount of money that Varric was spending on keeping her safe quite a bit higher.  
  
His lyrium markings flared slightly in reaction to the powerful magic that lingered in the air once he crossed her threshold. His lips curled back in distaste as his figurative hackles rose. He could feel by the heat of the burn that it was blood magic, regular magic had a cleaner, almost icy-hot feel to it. The place was a mess, and coming from him, that was saying something. Books and papers were scattered about, dishes piled up in the "washing corner" of her house, and detritus of whatever she was working on simply left in piles here and there forcing him to step carefully on his way back to her room. The "mirror" stood with seeming innocuous quiescence in the corner of her room, a large platter of glass shards nearby being slowly fitted together, but Fenris was not fooled for a moment, he could _feel_ the menace of it by the simple presence of potential power. The demon-mirror exuded an aura of taint and wrongness the same way a midden stank of foulness. Fenris' eyes narrowed at the sight of that thing, his flesh around the lyrium markings crawling just being near it.   
  
_:How can she stand it?!:_ he wondered to himself.   
  
He was greatly tempted indeed to take his sword to the cursed thing and have done with it. He had a feeling it would save a lot of pain and sorrow in the long run all around. Only wariness about what he might accidentally unleash in the middle of a crowded alienage with only himself and the blood-witch (who in fact had a pact with it) stayed his hand.  
  
"Creepy thing," he muttered.  
  
He watched it warily as he stepped into the room... and had the eerie feeling that it was watching him back.  
  
 _:Creepy and dangerous,:_ he amended.  
  
Merrill tried to slip down off his shoulder, but he checked her firmly, watching the demon-mirror and waiting to see if it would do anything. After all, this was its potential future host he was holding... and if it reacted to him as it would react to a threat, he'd have proof positive that the thing was getting out of hand. He watched carefully, waiting to see how it would react, and after a long moment he felt the sense of presence in the room withdraw a bit, as though deciding that a direct confrontation was not worth it right then.  
  
 _:Of course it doesn't want a direct confrontation, not when it knows that all it needs to do is wait patiently and it's own sacrificial lamb will climb herself up onto the altar and present her throat.:_  
  
He felt foolish for not having come to investigate the source of her little obsession earlier. Everyone took her word for the fact that things were fine and it wasn't dangerous and she had it all under control. He'd been content to lecture her about it up until then, but now that he had seen her little demon-mirror for himself, he could not in good conscience let the situation rest as it was. Not after he had seen the circles under her eyes and felt for himself how much weight she had lost. Her obsession was beginning to gain the upper hand.  
  
 _:I will pay her Keeper a visit, and soon,:_ he promised himself.   
  
Despite her foolish rebellion phase, the chit still gave her teacher's words great credence, which was perhaps the only sensible thing she did. If he could enlist the aid of Hawke and even one or two of the others of their set, it would not be so hard to pressure her out of her foolish quest.  
  
 _:Probably,:_ he reminded himself.   
  
For all that she was gentle and soft-hearted, Merrill could have an incredible stubborn streak when it came to her demon-mirror and the lost knowledge she hoped to gain from it.  
  
"Here," he said, setting her on her feet on the dirty floor of her room. "Sleep it off."  
  
"Um..." she called as he turned on his heel to leave, stopping him. He looked back over her shoulder.  
  
"Would you do me a favor Fenris?" she asked.  
  
"I owe you nothing," he said shortly.  
  
"That's why it's called a favor," she said patiently.  
  
"Ask," he replied.   
  
It might not be such a bad thing if she felt she owed him something, she might be inclined to be more reasonable... or at least less annoying, he'd settle for that.  
  
"Will you swear you'll never touch me? I mean, skin to skin that is. Not that there's anything bad about you," she added hurriedly as though just now realizing how offensively her words could be taken. "I'm just saying, that I... um, I'm... there's a certain thing I need to look into and I don't want anything getting confused. I mean, I need to look into it first and this is just a precaution, but why take chances?"  
  
"You must be well and truly foxed," he replied, frowning at the implication he would do any such thing. "You're making even less sense than usual. But for what it's worth, that is not something you need to worry about. I am... I have an aversion to physical contact in the first place, and mages make my skin crawl."  
  
Not as much as that demon-mirror of hers gave him the shudders, but there was no denying that the aura's of powerful mages had an effect on the lyrium markings in his skin. Yet another reason why he was always so short tempered and cutting in the company of mages, just thier mere presence alone was like a subtle irritation along his markings.  
  
"Oh. Well. That's good then. Remember that you promised! Not even if I'm dying and touching me will save my life, you must keep your distance, got it?"  
  
He snorted, both at the likelihood that he'd save her life (much less touch her willingly to do so) and at the strange notion she had got into her head that she could order him around. He had given her no such vow.  
  
"Good night foolish witch. Sleep off your crazy and don't join us in the morning, hm?"  
  
Merrill yawned and sighed as she made herself comfortable. Drifting off to sleep as quickly and securely as the kitten that Isabella had nicknamed her for. In the warm, close air of the room Merrill hadn't bothered to pull on a blanket and the revealing outfit wasn't any less revealing now that she was asleep. The gentle curve of her spine was bared to him by the brevity of her top, her shoulders and neck vulnerable and oddly enticing. Her slender arms resting lightly above her head, curves of her thighs and calves playing peek-a-boo in the layers of her skirts and his traitorous mind presented him with images of what she had looked like dancing sensuously just an hour ago. What she might look like if she ... His skin abruptly glowed softly with the light of his lyrium markings.  
  
 _:Wait, what?:_ he questioned himself.  
  
He was surprised to note that when he looked down at himself his markings were indeed lit up as bright as a full moon. Surprise bled quickly to dismay. His markings reacted strongly to his emotional state and for him to be in such a state involving the blood-witch was... disquieting.  
  
Scowling, he tugged the edge of the blanket out from under where she lay and threw it over top of her. There, problem solved.  
  
 _:I hope she has a nasty hangover,:_ he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

"Uhhhg..." Merrill groaned as she moved groggily.

Her eyes felt like they had been glued shut with the special halla-hoof glue that was used to recurve iron-wood bows, they were so dry and gummy. Her throat felt scratchy and the smell characteristic to the Hanged Man still clung to her unwashed skin. Above all of those was a lingering nausea worse than the seasickness she had felt in the hold of the ship that had carried her from Ferelden, and the feeling that a host of tiny dwarves had taken up residence inside her skull and were currently trying to mine their way out of it with pickaxes.   
  
She rolled onto her stomach, praying to Mythal that she would no loose its contents in the process, and looked blearily around her. She was in her rooms.  
  
 _:Mythal preserve me!:_ Merrill thought in amazement.  
  
Perhaps her Goddess truly did exist somehow and had taken an especial interest in Merrill. That was the only way she could think of the explain how Fenris, of _all_ people, had picked her up and dragged her out of the Hanged Man the evening previous and plunked her down into her home. He had been as uncivil as ever he was, but the fact remained that he had taken her home, and without prompting.  
  
 _:Oh dear, maybe it's not a coincidence after all,:_ Merrill thought in dismay.  
  
The thought that it might be another manifestation of the V'shai Anah sprang to the forefront of her mind.  
  
 _:And if that's the case, maybe I should stop calling on my Goddess so often, if being Bonded to Fenris is the way She chooses to answer my prayers.:_  
  
All of the old legends made the V'shai Anah out to be this wonderful, glorious connection between two souls that promised eternal happiness and harmony. A beautiful unity that would be the envy of every "normal" pairing that relied on mere words to form connections that were easily misunderstood. V'shai Anah were supposed to be able to feel what the other felt, to know without words just what the other was thinking, to exist in a perfect state of sympathy in which thier hearts were eternally tied together as one. Considering who Merrill was supposed to be "enjoying" this supposedly blissful state with, she was now disinclined to trust the accuracy of the old legends. She couldn't imagine having anything remotely resembling harmony or unity (or, void, even civility) with that man.   
  
_:This has all got to be some kind of mistake. I have to be imagining things, I just **have** to be!:_ she thought.  
  
She did have some hand-copied writings in ancient elvhen on the matter. The tales of the V'Shai Anah had always been favorites of hers. Some of them were tragic, yes, but the romantic side of her had always felt that the unconditional love and sympathy brought about by the bond was so beautiful. Keeper Marethari had always been more interested in the "expression of Divine Will" that supposedly characterized the Bond.  
  
 _:One more reason why we cannot possibly be V'Shai Anah,:_ Merrill thought with hopeful triumph. _:Fenris reveres the Maker, he's not even a follower of the True Faith. If we were to be Bonded, surely any expression of Divine Will would manifest itself between two elves who actually believe in the true Gods. That would make more sense. Mythal surely wouldn't pick an elf who doesn't even believe in Her, and much less one who holds such antipathy for Her daughter.:_  
  
She rolled herself out of bed ignoring the extra emphatic throb in her head and the rising queasiness in her stomach and fumbled for a healing potion to take away the worst of the effects. They tasted horrible, they truly did, but a quick downing and she was feeling worlds better a moment later.  
  
 ** _((A.N. This author imagines that they probably taste like those nasty energy shots.))_**  
  
 _:My, my,:_ she thought looking down at herself and shaking her head.  
  
The clothes that Isabella had given her to wear for her Nameday party were very pretty, but there was just a lot less of them than she was used to wearing. Still, her exciting pirate friend had gone out of her way to give them to her and asked that she wear them as a way of helping Isabella cope with a sudden bout of homesickness for the music and costume of her people. Merrill could certainly sympathize with that, she had frequent bouts of homesickness for her clan and her Keeper, so she had set aside her scruples and wore the thing to make Isabella happy.  
  
"I can't believe I nearly frolicked on a tabletop in the middle of a crowded bar..." she muttered to herself.  
  
Merrill had never before had much sympathy with her age-mates in her clan or their drunken revelries, nor the sore heads she'd had to deal with on the morning afters. She usually had to deal with the aftermath including the various stories of silliness and stupidity that were always summed up with the words "it seemed like a good idea at the time." Keeper Marethari had discouraged her First away from strong drink since, as both a mage and a figure of importance in the community, she had both a mandate to remain always in control of herself _and_ to uphold a certain dignity due her rank. Thus, Merrill was a terrible lightweight. Isabella reveled in chaos because that was the sort of person she could be from time to time; naughty, selfish, provocative and free-spirited. Merrill was not really any of these things and she had Fenris (of all people) to thank for keeping things from getting out of hand. It was perhaps the first time in their association that the broody elf had shown her an act of thoughtfulness without Varric or Hawke twisting his arm.   
  
_:I'll have to get him something nice,:_ she thought to herself.   
  
A small petty part of her was mulishly rebellious at the thought of doing anything nice for someone who never had a single kind word to say to her, but she quashed it firmly. He had done her a favor, unasked ofr at that. This might be a way she could finally gain some common ground with him instead of his continuous rebuttals and disdain.  
  
 _:He really could use some plants,:_ she thought charitably. _:Perhaps a nice little house-tree like Hawke has, or some little potted flowers. I'll have to think about which ones will suit him best.:_  
  
Off the top of her head she thought she'd get him the gladiolus flower, a flower that took its name from the Arcanum word for "sword" and in the Elvhen language of flowers meant "strength of character." It would certainly suit him well.  
  
 _:But first.. research!:_  
  
She had to be _absolutely certain_ that this soulbonding thing couldn't happen between the two of them. Because really that would be doing an enormous disservice to them both. Fenris had escaped slavery and bondage in the Tevinter Imperium, no matter that the soulbonding would work both ways, it was _still_ a fetter. And a fetter to someone he despised in specific rather than just on general principle. He would certainly be miserable with her; likely resentful of having "love" for her forced on him by some Divine outside power, and angry at having his choice in the matter taken away from him. Come to that, Merrill wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea either. She already had her purpose in life mapped out, that was, saving her people with the eluvian; having a soulbond thrust on her would derail her plans entirely.   
  
_:For a man who sits alone all night and day, squatting in his big, gloomy doom-castle in the middle of Hightown brooding on a past that cannot be changed, he certainly seems to have a lot to say about my choices,:_ she thought to herself.   
  
The fair-minded part of her chimed in that, as a former slave and current fugitive, he didn't really have much in the way of choices at all, so perhaps seeing other people make choices he thought were bad ones probably annoyed him.  
  
 _:And besides, this soulbonding thing would force me to give up the eluvian!:_ Merrill thought in alarm.  
  
The entire premise upon which her work with the blood magic and the mirror rested on was that, whatever price was to be paid to regain what was lost, that she would be the only one to pay it. After all, that was why she had voluntarily went into exile in the human city, so that her clan would not be affected by what she must do. Keepers, wise and wonderful as they were, were all too afraid to get their hands dirty. If one wanted something in the world, one paid a price for it, this was a universal tenet. The Tevinter magisters made others pay the price for the power they craved and this was why they were anathema, even to the relatively tolerant (magically speaking) Dalish. Merrill did not seek to offload the cost onto another, but likewise did she not believe that one could make an omlette without breaking some eggs.   
  
_:But whatever cost that will be exacted on me for doing as I must, the only one who must be made to pay for my actions is **me**. This is my responsibility and that is why I am not as those mages that Fenris detests so.:_  
  
A soulbond would change that. V'shai Anah were connected soul to soul in the same way that the magic of the Fade was woven into the physical body as warp threaded weft in a tapestry, they literally _were not_ separate, not entirely. Thus, if such a bond were forged between herself and another person, the price for the magic that only Merrill was supposed to pay would be shared with another, whether she willed it or not. There was no choice in the matter, this was the way the bond worked; both equal, both involved. Her blood magic _would_ affect him.

_:If we were souldbonded, I simply could not have that, by Mythal.:_

She would not allow such a thing. If she did, then that would make her no better, perhaps even worse, than the worst of the Teviner magisters. She would be exposing an innocent to the dangers of a magic she was now just beginning to see was not as cut and dried as she had at first assumed.   
  
_:I must first ascertain under what conditions such a bond might form, and then find a way to prevent it!:_ she thought.   
  
It was bad enough they were acquaintances who had to spend time with one another, though Fenris disliked her and everything she stood for. She _tried_ to understand him, but he rebuffed her at every turn, and made no effort to hide his disdain for her. He was rude, and his remarks were often deliberately cruel, when he made them he meant them to cut deeply. She did not want to be tied to a man like that, even if a soulbond was supposedly a mark of the Goddess Mythal's favor.   
  
_:Even if giving up my work and the hope for my people to recover more of what has been lost was not at stake, I **still** would not want to be bonded with him. But since my research on the eluvian is at stake here, I absolutely can't let it happen.:_  
  


* * *

  
  
It was getting late in the afternoon when Merrill had scanned through all of the resources in her own private library in the main room of her house. It was perhaps the only real good thing about living in the human city that she could think of; ready access to written works. Among the Dalish Clans who traveled in aravels and were constantly on the move, the amount of written knowledge that could be accumulated was confined to what could easily be transported. Much of Dalish tradition was still oral for this reason alone. In the city, Merrill had been able to accrete as many books as she could fit on a shelf, and still keep collecting without having to worry about which she would be able to take with her, and which she must eventually leave behind.   
  
_:Sadly, most books that are written in the human cities are about human concerns,:_ she thought.   
  
The only books about the Dalish that covered the lore of the Elvhen were all ones that she had copied from her Keeper and brought with her. There were _some_ scholarly tracts about the elves, but they were all written from a human perspective, and lacked the appropriate background to truly be of use. Good for gathering facts, were these Human works, but for drawing appropriate conclusions... that was up to Merrill.   
  
No human work ever referenced the soulbonding, so Merrill had to assume that it was something unique to her own people. She was not certain of it applied to all elves or just the Dalish. The only cases of V'shai Anah she had ever heard of were with other Dalish, but she didn't know if that was just because she was Dalish and thus isolated from the Tevinter and alienage elves or if it was an event that happened only among the followers of the old ways (presumably because the Goddess would only choose to bestow such a tremendous honor to her faithful children).   
  
For all that her resources on the matter were few (and many of them running more to romantic tales than to factual historical accounts of the phenomenon) there was one point that they did all agree on; a soulbond between two people would be like a sleeping bud, alive with potential but quiescent, when the two destined souls met. It would only burst into bloom, that was, manifest itself as a true bond with all that entailed, when the two potential bondmates touched one another skin to skin. In most stories, the bonding was enacted with their first kiss, but the lore said this wasn't necessarily mandated, it could be a touch on the bare hand. Nearly all accounts had the quiescent bond credited as an instantaneous and nearly overwhelming attraction to one another, but there were some few accounts (older ones and some of them written by Keepers) that accounted particular examples of a bonding that started out just the opposite, that the two unfortunates took an instant dislike to one another.   
  
_:Maybe it's not a soulbond after all,:_ she thought, mostly in relief but a teeny tiny part of her felt a little wistful about it, mostly at the thought of having solid proof of the goddess Mythal's favor in her life.  
  
 _:After all, I can't really say I strongly dislike Fenris. His constant cutting remarks wear on me, that's all. I understand where he's coming from, he's lived through things I probably can't even begin to imagine, I know he will never support the decision I've made but at the same time he's... he's **mean**! He's a **meanie** about it.:_  
  
For all the disdain and dislike he piled on her every time they met, Merrill could not help but feel sympathetic toward him for the most part, though he treated any attempt she made to express her sorrow for his suffering with open contempt. He always turned any attempt she made to express her sorrow for him right back on her and lectured her in the most cutting fashion, and his wit could be even sharper, and certainly cut more deeply, than the sword he carried.   
  
Merrill tried hard to accept his disdain and contempt and his cutting remarks with equanimity, or at least outward serenity. If she was brutally honest with herself, and she tried to be, it wasn't like he was entirely, one hundred percent wrong _all_ the time about the way he felt. It was just that Merrill felt he wasn't always as right as he thought he was. Part of it was also her training as a Keeper. She had been raised to try to look beyond the surface of things and into the deeper hurts behind the words, and poor Fenris was a simmering cauldron of bitterness, anger and hate towards the world and especially toward the people who had hurt him. More than that, he felt robbed of his past which made him unable to build a future (especially while his past still hunted him...literally!). So he stewed and he brooded and he kept his wounds flowing fresh, and so all of that pain and anger bled out into those around him. He lashed out, particularly at those around him who bore any resemblance to the life he'd left. As a practicing Blood Mage, Merrill bore the most resemblance to the magisters that had done terrible things to him, it was no wonder he seemed to save his most cutting remarks for her.  
  
 _:And most days I'm able to remember all of this and keep a level head around him, but some days he makes it hard, that he does!:_ Merrill thought.  
  
So there it was, nothing more supernatural between them than long exposure and an ability to see past appearances. There was no need for her to go making up legendary fancies and stirring up a pot of trouble.  
  
"Och!" Merrill exclaimed to herself as a naughty and slightly malicious thought occurred to her. _:If any were to be soulbonded, it would have to be him and Anders! They're like two weasels in a whipple-pot! Always at each others throats.:_  
  
Merrill could understand Fenris, even be able to sympathize with him on a good day... Anders and Fenris would never do anything but fight. Merrill could see that the different intensities of dislike Fenris felt for her and for Anders stemmed from a fundamental dichotomy. Fenris hated Merrill's continuing decision to pursue blood magic and thought her reasons behind it were stupid. He thought her foolish, but a fool might one day change their mind. Fenris hated what Ander's **_was_**. In his eyes, the healing mage (whom Merrill actually rather thought to be a very fine man for a shem) would never be anything but an abomination. Even so they were both mages, and Merrill rather thought that Mythal would not be so cruel as to soulbond a person to the one sort of person whose existence he detested.  
  
 _:Regardless of whether this is a soulbonding or not, I think I should take this as a sign that some re-examination is in order. A mage can't work in a tainted circle...:_  
  
Oh but, surely she could do that _later_. She was nearly done with the third inch of the shards and she just knew that once she had that little bit done, then that one big piece would fit just right _there_. The reexamination could wait until--  
  
 _:Wait a minute...:_ Merrill thought, a cold knot beginning to form in her stomach. 

This wasn;t the first time this had happened, in fact, this wasn't even the first time this had happened this week. A regular cleansing of her magical channels to keep them clean of taint and dark magic were what formed the majority of the bulwark of her defenses against influence and encroachment by the dark magic she wielded in order to restore the eluvian. She'd done them first thing in the morning when she'd woken every day after she first arrived in the alienage but lately she'd een finding reasons to put them off. It was easy just to augment her magical strength with a little blood magic and do a full cleansing later, but lately she'd found reasons to keep putting it off. She was making such great progress with the eluvian, and her magic didn't seem to be suffering from it. 

With a soulbonding mixed into the works, any taint of dark magic she carried would possibly affect her potential bondmate and that was something that absolutely could not be risked. The very fact that she was trying to make an excuse to put off a good cleansing of her channels when someone else's life and health potentially hung in the balance as well was a big red banner waving in her face with the words "there's something wrong with this situation" printed on them in big bold letters. It occured to her suddenly that her strange bout of laziness with regards to the cleansing that was supposed to help keep her safe from the dangers of blood magic, the obsession with her mirror that blanked out everything else, and the bouts of irritablity she was getting when she didn't use her blood magic were possibly symptomatic of someone or something influencing her thoughts.

  
_:I think its high time I took a closer look,:_ Merrill thought to herself, her suspicions rousing for the first time in a long time.

She wasn't a suspicious person by nature, rather the opposite being true, but a mage couldn't be too careful, especially with blood magic. 


	4. Chapter 4

Fenris woke that morning in a bad mood.   
  
He stormed down to the Hanged Man and all but kicked in the door. As he had hoped, he caught the dwarf at his breakfast, with Hawke on one side of the table and Sebastion nursing a mug of tea on the other.  
  
"Where in all of Thedas were you last night!" he demanded as he stomped over and slammed his gauntletted hands down on the tabletop, scowling feircely at the usually ever-present dwarf who had not been in attendence at the one time when things could have gone terribly wrong.  
  
"What? Keep it down Broody, I just got in a few hours ago and I ain't had my beauty sleep. Even my beard's scraggly."  
  
"Well while you were off galivanting about the town I had to stop the pirate from debauching the unsuspecting little twit-mage," Fenris growled in irritation.   
  
The chantry brother choked on his tea at the announcment.   
  
"What?" the dwarf asked face blank in surprise, clearly uncertain he'd heard him right.  
  
"Really?" Hawke said, smiling widely with interest. "Debauching? This I gotta hear."  
  
"Isabella did say something about a Nameday party eariler," Sebastion said, his Starkhaven brogue roughening in his distress. "But said it was no boys allowed."  
  
"Quaintly put," Fenris grumbled. "Isabella seemed to think it a fine idea to make her comrades dress in the "costume of her people" and also to see how much she could get the chit to drink before someone put a stop to it."  
  
"Wasn't Aveline here?" varric said, his tone indicating that she should have been the one in charge of keeping the party from getting out of hand (or maybe in Isabella's case, well into hand).  
  
"She and her two guard companions had thier hands full controlling the crowd once the mage got up on the table and started dancing."  
  
"Damn! And I missed it!" Hawke lamented.  
  
"Why was the crowd rioting at her dancing?" Sebastion asked. "She wasn't flinging magic about, was she?"  
  
"She didn't need to," Fenris grunted. "If she ever wants to give up her carreer as a maleficarum, I'm sure the Blooming Rose would pay generously for her talents as an entertainer."  
  
"Careful Broody," Varric warned him that he comments were coming dangerously close to the sorts of slights he'd have to defend on her behalf.  
  
"So what was this dance like, I want details," Hawke demanded.  
  
All three of the rest of the men at the table looked at him with expressions of surprise (Sebastion) disdain (Fenris) and warning (Varric). The insoucient rouge just shrugged, unrepentant.  
  
"What, don't tell me you all haven't thought she was hot at one point or another."  
  
They continued to stare at him.  
  
"And her and Bella together..." he whistled. "I would pay to see that!"  
  
"Well thanks for looking out for her Fenris, I'll owe you one," Varric changed the subject.   
  
"it was indeed a good turn you have done brother," Sebastion agreed with a note of approval.   
  
"Yeah, but since when do you go out of your way to keep Merrill out of trouble?" Hawke asked next. "I kinda thought you couldn't stand her. I mean, you're always fighting, or is that fighting just another way of working off the tension of... anticipation?"  
  
Fenris didn't other to hide his lipcurl of scorn at the very idea.  
  
"I'm going to ignore that with a dignity it doesn't deserve," he said. "And if you must know, I only became involved to keep the witch from accidentally casting magic while inebriated and burning the whole place down around us. A preventative measure, nothing more."  
  
"Boring as usual," Varric grunted.   
  
"I'll get all the really good, juicy details out of Bels later," Hawke promised him.  
  
"If I don't get them first," Varric corrected.  
  
Fenris almost opened his mouth to express his concern about Merrills creepy demon-mirror but the fact that he would be sharing the news with a chantry brother stalled him. Sebastion was a good man to have in a fight, and as a member of the chantry was certainly more open and embracing than many he'd seen, he truly cared about people for instance instead of merely giving lip service to helping the poor and defenseless. he was a good man, but he did have a certain leeriness of the apostates in thier party. Ninety-nine percent of the time it was a feeling Fenris shared wholeheartedly, a large part of him was in agreement with the idea of locking up the abomination and throwing away the key. his feelings about Merrills situation however were more mixed.  
  
 _:She's a silly girl who uses blood magic and stubbornly refuses to see sense but... she's good inside. As much as she annoys me, and she does annoy me, I can't quite bring myself to do anything that would harm her.:_    
  
Locking her away behind iron and stone, never allowed to be in the sun, surrounded by those who would hate every last thing she believes in with all of her heart, he couldn't imagine anything better designed to break her gentle spirit. He had seen too many broken before him when he had been powerless to prevent it, it would be by no action of his that one he had come to call comrade would be shattered.   
  
_:Likewise, I'm certain by now that leaving her in the company of that mirror she's so obsessed with is simply **asking** for trouble,:_ he thought.   
  
"Do you think she's up for another trip to the Bone Pit?" Hawke asked him, as though reading his thoughts. "I know she's probably got a head from her adventures last night but Hubert has been urging me to go visit the wrkers and clear out any trouble I might find."  
  
"Good notion," Sebastion agreed. "I'm always happy to do a service for the less fortunate."  
  
Fenris said nothing but nodded his agreement. He wasn't entirely sure what one did about a demon-mirror in the middle of a city, aside of, perhaps, dump it in the harbor, but keeping the little blood-witch away from it for a time would be good for her.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn't her imagination and it wasn't just stress. It was _real_. Merrill looked down at her hands which trembled a little in the early morning sun. As an experiment to prove to herself that she wasn't being manipulated by the spirit that she had made a pact with for its help restoring the eluvian, Merrill had sat herself down before the mirror and taken her tools and the shards in hand but instead of getting straight to work like she always did, she simply sat there.   
  
At first she had felt normal but then after a few minutes a subtle restlessness stirred within her, a feeling like a person got when they had something they knew they should be doing right then. That feeling had very slowly, very subtly grew into a nagging desire to be doing something, a burning curiosity to see solve the next peice of the puzzle, like a bibliophile being left in the middle of the best part of the book. Desire became a compulsion too strong to be ignored or set aside. The feeling grew so intense that Merrill was almost forced to get up and pace to expend the restlessness. Merrill then tried to turn her thoughts and concentration somewhere else, but they always slowly cicled back around to the eluvian and a desire to resume the task of fixing it. That was how she knew that the desire did not come from within herself, but was being imposed on her from the outside.  
  
 _:Keeper Marethari and Anders were both right; a spirit as powerful as the one I bargained with would never be satisfied with the tiny prize I offered as recompnse for its services. It's been there in the back of my thoughts, urging me on, whispering to me, and I wasn't even aware of it. It's been **using** me!:_  
  
Marethari had always told her that a Keeper and mage both must listen to the voice deep within, especially when it told her uncomfortable truths. In the last few weeks, Merrill had known deep down she had been brushing that voice aside, eagre to see what the eluvian would reveal to her when she was finished restoring it. She had been skimping on her spiritual cleansing, on her meditation, on her grounding and centering excersizes. These were the bulwarks that were supposed to enable her to keep her channels clear of blood magic taint and keep her mind and spirit firmly her own in the face of the subtle enticements of demons. She had been letting them slide lately. At first it had only been a morning here and there. It had been so easy to just bolster her magic with a little blood magic and promise herself that she'd do a more thorough cleansing later. Then, as she was drawn more deeply into her work, the lapses became more frequent always with the mental promise that she'd make it up later.    
  
 _:Mythal preserve me...:_ she thought, a chill overtaking her body as the weight of the realization of what had almost happened, of what she had almost allowed to happen, fell on her like a collapsing tunnel.   
  
It had been the demon at work, manipulating her subtly. It was wearing away slowly at her defenses, getting her to make her own excuses and moving its influence in slowly, deeper and deeper. Taking over her channels a little at a time, keeping her too distracted with her obsession to do the proper cleansing that would have made her aware of its spreading influence on her magic, and ever so slowly making her more dependent on the power of blood magic.  
  
 _:I... I almost proved Fenris right!:_ she thought in horror.   
  
The spirit she'd dealt with was not going to be content with the pithy settlement from thier agreement, of that she was now certain right down to the marrow of her bones. Marethari had been right in that, certainly, as had Anders and Fenris and everyone else who had warned her away from her path. Merrill had thought that she had been playing the long game, patiently restoring the eluvian so that her people could regain what they had lost, she now saw that the spirit had been playing a longer game still with her body and soul as the prize.   
  
For the first time in what she was coming to see had been a long time, Merrill really woke up and looked around her. She used magesight, a particular sort of doublevision that talented mages used to stare at both aspects of reality, the physical realm that everyone saw normally and the Beyond which was layered over and woven into the fabric of reality the same way that soul-energy was part of a physical body. What she saw made her shiver. Her home, the place where she slept and ate and worked, which was supposed to be kept clear and purified of all negative energy so that she could work with a clear head, was saturated with a subtle taint. Watching the flows and currents of the energies Merrill recognized the patterns, a variation on a mind-hex, sort of like an aversion spell but it worked subtly and undetectably on the target's thoughts and will.   
  
_:I'm not quite sure exactly what it's supposed to do,:_ she thought as she let her mage sight go. _:But I can give a pretty good guess. It's definitely an aversion spell, and one that works in tandem with my own wishes and as well as my... my weaknesses.:_  
  
The spell was designed to keep her isolated by subtly turning her thoughts away from asking for help from her Keeper, from her friends, from anyone. That demon wanted her in its own power, and it was using her own solitary nature against her. Every time she thought about leaving her work on the mirror or possibly going to someone for some advice, the spell let her own mind supply the reasons why she should put it off for later. She was already a proud woman who disliked asking for help, her magical talent had always been so strong that she'd rarely had to, the spell played on that pride too. She had been slowly sinking deeper and deeper into its grasp and she hadn't even realized it.  
  
 _:That stops **now**!:_ she vowed.   
  
She wasn't, quite, willing to give up the mirror entirely (and the fact that she felt that way, she knew, was likely due to the influence of the demon, but she'd consult her Keeper on the matter first). Merrill had sunk three years of her life into restoring it, had given up her life in her clan for it, had taken up Blood Magic for it, and she wasn't quite ready to write it all off as a loss and start over.   
  
_:First things first though, I do know this; Keeper Marethari was right about about the Blood Magic. The demon was manipulating me through it and as long as I use it, I will be subject to It's will.:_  
  
When it came to magic, either one was the master or one was the slave, there was no room for middle ground. She knew that now. The manipulation of primal, elemental forces required nothing less than utter, complete and total mastery over ones Self. To relinquish that mastery was to become the slave. In her case she still had enough control to regain what territory inside of herself that the demon had subtly been taking control of, but she had to act quickly.   
  
She knew that in this case the subtle workings of the demon's magic was much like the way a strangler fig worked its way into the crevices of a host tree, feeding off its nutrients wrapping round its roots and trunk and branches, growing steadily stronger until the host tree eventually died, leaving only the fig. The demon was still relatively small but she would have to rip it out entirely, root and branch and leaf, leaving no vestige of it behind to regrow later. She had to strike, decisively, thourougly and it had to be nothing less than an all out offensive. She would burn away every last trace of that demon, its influence, and the blood magic it used as a conduit to gain access to her channels. The demon was an invading force set on taking over the territory of her soul, and now that she was aware of the threat, Merrill had no intention of relinquishing her kingdom to the usurper. She would marshall all of the forces at her command and meet it on the field of her inner soulscape.

It was time to go to war.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we finally get to the meat of the story. I like this chapter, I hope you all do too.

As far as balanced parties went he supposed he couldn't compain overly much about being placed with Varric and Hawke with a mage for support, though if he were going off the beaten path he'd rather have the healer along instead of relying on potions to cover the damage. Potions were finite, and expensive. Whatever else he said about the abomination, even Fenris could not deny that the man did a fine job of tending to their injuries.   
  
_:It would be better still if we had no mages involved,:_ he thought to himself.   
  
He'd made the suggestion, and more than once, but Hawke never listened. He always insisted on bringing at least one of the troublesome nuisances along. It often annoyed Fenris that the creatures were so bloody useful! When it came to weakening an attacking party wholesale so that they could be picked off easily, the female mage was without equal, not even by the abomination. She could take hordes of lesser fighters out with a single casting, bolts of energy lancing down from the sky... and down they went, twitching. Sometimes he found it both gruesome and amusing. And she could chain magic and keep them coming, though she was always weaker at the end, and required rest, still, in the heat of battle her ability to chain spells in a seeming endless supply at the cost of a little of her physical endurance could be a game-changer. She couldn't heal, but when the battles were short she generally didn't need to. The witch's magic was strong, even he had to admit that.  
  
 _:Unfortunately that extra strength comes from the use of blood magic,:_ he thought.  
  
She was so adamant about it not being dangerous if handled with proper care and precautions. Fenris knew better, and it just made him _cringe_ everytime she insisted that she had everything under control. The abomination echoed the sentiment, and that was saying something.  
  
 _:One would think that if a man possessed by a demon from the Fade said "don't do this" a sensible person would listen! One would also think that the silly chit would listen to her teacher as well... but noooo.:_  
  
There were days he just wanted to hit her over the head with something. _Hard_. Or shake her until her teeth rattled. Or lock her up in a room made of sap-stone that would suppress her magic until she promised to give up her foolishness and go home.   
  
He'd been asked to nip down to the alienage and fetch the witch so that they could be on thier way. The dwarf had a few last minute merchant matters to handle and would be tied up until later that morning. Hawke was up in hightown, humoring his mother about her matchmaking schemes and wouldn't be back down the hill until later that day, leaving Fenris as the gopher for the afternoon.   
  
_:Still, it does settle the debt I owe for the last game of Wicked Grace...:_ Fenris shrugged to himself.   
  
Hunting bandits and killing slavers was all fine and good, but he did like to take home his fair share of the kiddy. Despite the losses at gambling, he had a fair-sized nestegg put away for when he eventually had to go back on the run. Being a fugitive was much easier with ready money to buy silence with.   
  
He rounded the corner and took the steps leading down to the hex with the tree where the elves made thier home. He was a city elf himself, but even he had to admit that seeing the spreading canopy of green made some deep part of himself feel contented. Maybe it was some kind of elvhen race memory or something that made him feel so at home around nature, despite the fact he was more comfortable in urban surroundings where he knew what to expect.  
  
As he drew nearer to the little hovel where Merril lived, he heard what sounded like the sounds of a fight or struggle through the wood of the door. He might not always get along with the little twit but she was still his battle comrade and it was understood that he would aid and defend her, for he knew she would do the same for him. He drew his longblade and kicked in the door, ready to face whatever enemy was on the other side; Templars, demons, abominations...  
  
What he found was dust-bunnies. Or dust-dragons perhaps. Fenris stared for a long moment, stock still, speechless in shock.  
  
"Och! Fenris! Yeh gave a start yeh did!" Merrill exclaimed as if there were absolutely nothing unusual about her activities, as though what she was doing did not fly in the face of everything she had said and done since the day they'd met.  
  
He continued to stare, not quite believing his eyes.  
  
"I'm glad you're here, actually," she added on hurriedly. "Do you think you could do me a favor? I know I'm asking a lot lately but I'll owe you for this one, I truly will."   
  
She was pulling her precious books on blood magic down from her shelves, flipping through them, tearing out a few pages here and there, then tossing the rest of it into the center of the room. In the middle of the room was a large pile of... magey things. Bottles of arcane liquids, embers and fluids taken from demons and abominations they'd fought, broken pieces of staffs, piles of books and scrolls that seeped out tainted energies, athames and pins and bowls and other paraphernalia used in blood magic were all piled in the center of the room surrounded by a large circle drawn in chalk and dusted with some silvery substance. The inner circle was surrounded by another circle and between the rings was an intricate knotwork interwoven with arcane symbols chalked carefully onto the floor. The walls of the house, he also noted, had similar glyphs and circles chalked onto them, even the ceiling featured some sort of arcanic-looking elvish drawing.  
  
"Would you mind, awfully much, using that sword of yours on that tablet over there?"  
  
Merrill pointed to a smooth, flat white stone tablet on which rested partially pieced-together shards of glass. It was the spelled surface she used to help her piece together her mirror. The back of the tablet was covered in runes and sigils that Fenris recognized from some of his former masters work. More blood magic stuff.  
  
"You... want me to destroy it?" he said, uncertain he'd heard her right.  
  
"If you don't mind," she said cheerfully, as she bustled about snatching up books and other arcane objects and tossing them into the growing pile in the center of the room. "I'd do it myself, but I can't seem to physically snap it in half, and it's resistant to magic. Part of it's nature, y'know. You seem strong enough to do the task."  
  
She examined the edge of a particularly wicked-looking athame and with a slightly nostalgic shrug, chucked it over her shoulder. A big book of forbidden lore joined it a moment later on the pile.  
  
"What are you doing?" he felt compelled to demand.  
  
"What does it look like?" she said, staring at him as though he'd gone daft. "I'm destroying all of my blood magic things. No point in keeping them around if I'm giving it up, they're dangerous doncha know. The wrong sort of mage might get hold of them and then we'd have another pesky task on our hands. Best to make a clean sweep of it."   
  
Fenris stared.  
  
 _:Is the sky falling?:_ he wondered. _:Did the world turn upside down while I slept?:_  
  
Never, not once, not _ever_ had he heard of a mage who willingly gave up the additional power of blood magic once they'd gotten a taste of it.   
  
_:And judging by the objects and books she's got here, I'd say she has had **more** than a taste,:_ he scowled, looking around him.   
  
"Are you serious?" he felt he had to ask.  
  
"Yes," was all she said.  
  
"What brought this on, all of a sudden?" he asked next, still unable to believe his eyes.  
  
"Don't try to talk me out of it Fenris, I'm quite resolved," she replied. He caught the slight upturn of her lips that said she might be having a little fun with this.  
  
"I wouldn't dream of stopping you when you've just finally come to your senses, I just want to know... Was it the wine or something?"  
  
If that was the case, it seemed he owed Isabella an enormous favor. He moved quickly to the side of the room she'd indicated where her strange magical tablet rested and pulled out his longblade. If she was finally taking steps to do the sensible thing at last, he'd help her get as much done as possible in hopes that when she did backslide, working that cursed magic would be much more difficult for her.  
  
"No... not the wine," Merrill said, sounding a bit uncomfortable.   
  
Fenris activated his tattoos to bolster his strength and took a good, strong downward swing at the tablet. Just before he reached the surface of the object, it flared with a red-black aura and it felt like the edge of his blade hit thickened jelly. Much of what would have been the impact was absorbed by the aura surrounding the cursed thing and Fenris was irritated to note that he only took a small chip out of it.  
  
"Then what?" he asked curiously. "I really want to know what finally got through to you and made you listen to everything I, and the abomination, and your teacher, and everyone else have all been trying to tell you all this time."  
  
If his tone was more than a little smug, Fenris felt he'd earned it. Merrill, of course, caught the undertone of almost gleeful self-satisfaction from him, and glared at him irritatedly. He very nearly smiled right back at her. As it was, a smirk escaped him. Merrill looked down and away, blushing in embarrassment.   
  
_:Oh- **ho**...:_ he thought, a smug elation welled up in him at the realization that she had realized that _he_ was _right_ and _she_ was _wrong_.   
  
"It was the mirror, wasn't it," he said hard on the heels of his first question. "You finally opened your eyes and sensed the rot coming out of that thing."  
  
"Och!" she said, her face flaming in embarrassment. "Yes, curse it! There, happy?"  
  
"Well... yes. I suppose. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to hear you say 'yes, Fenris, you were right and I was wrong all this time. You're so much wiser and more observant than me. And better looking."  
  
"Better looking?" she frowned at him.  
  
"Just thought I'd throw that in there," he said.  
  
He took another swing and made a little more progress this time. Encouraged, he took a few more swings, they took out increasingly large chunks as the defensive magics on the tablet fell to his blade. This was sort of fun, actually. He'd always liked having free reign to destroy artifacts of dark magic. Fenris had never seen a candy store or seen what a child's reaction to it was, but if he had he would have been able to empathize.  
  
"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?" she demanded resignedly, tossing more books onto the pile.  
  
"It's going to be even better than the dragon story," he assured her, taking another swing.  
  
"There's no talking to you."  
  
"Please can we go? I've never seen a huge dragon before!" he mimicked.   
  
Merrill frowned over at him.  
  
"I regret asking you already. I should have gone out to get..." she stalled, watching him lay into the tablet full force and still making not much damage. "Well I suppose Varric or Sebastion would be out, since those arrows probably wouldn't do much damage. Hawke and Isabella both specialize in weapons that don't require a whole lot of _brute_ strength."  
  
Fenris wasn't sure if she was subtly insulting him or merely stating a fact with the brute strength comment so he let it slide.   
  
"I should have called on Anders instead!" she said brightly.

The smile that played at the edge of her mouth as she invoked the name of his archrival told him that she did it on purpose. Provoking mage.  
  
Fenris scowled at her for the insult, a dark spear of something that felt almost akin to jealousy at the mention of her finding some other man superior to him for _any_ reason (and particularly for the strength of which he was justly proud). He told himself that the pang was insult and a dislike of the idea of anyone else getting to have the fun of destroying all of Merrill's dark magic junk rather than dislike of her proffering another to him for any reason at all.  
  
"He's still a mage," he pointed out. "And you said yourself that this thing is resistant to magic. It is also resistant to being split by ordinary means as well. Anders would be less useful in the situation that I am simply because I am stronger than he is."  
  
"Anders looks like he would be plenty strong, under those feathers," Merrill seemed obliged to argue with him.  
  
"Humph!" he grunted, landing a particularly emphatic swing. He sensed the spell give way the final bit and decided to use it as an object lesson.  
  
"I doubt he'd manage this," was all Fenris said as he adjusted his grip raised his sword with a small flourish, pushed out with the power of his markings and cleaved the troublesome artifact neatly in half.  
  
"He doesn't have a sword," Merrill said in as close to agreement as he was likely to get from her. Still, some small part of him puffed up at the victory. She took the two halves and tossed them onto the pile as well then went back to weeding through her shelves, hunting out books of blood magic.  
  
Fenris used books as paperweights, and to prop open windows and doors when it got hot, and as trays to hold his food and drink on when he didn't have a table clear. As a former slave, Fenris could not read, and was (admittedly) too proud to ask for help in learning how. Merrill was different. She horded books like a dragon horded treasure. The shelves of her little private library were full of books, with more of them overflowing onto the floor, tables, bed and anywhere else she might fit them. Judging by the fact that the majority of them were passed by without a second glance as Merrill continued her vigorous cleaning of all things blood magic related, not all of the volumes were full of forbidden lore and dangerous arcane spells. The woman clearly just loved books.  
  
"Pariah Bride. Tevinter's Kiss, Pirate's Plunder...." I wonder where Varric gets the inspiration for these stories," Merrill mused aloud. "They're so good, and romantic too."  
  
"What are they about?" he asked curiously as he held up a suspicious looking tome and Merrill nodded toward the pile. He tossed it, with pleasure.  
  
"Oh, Pariah Bride is about a Dalish Elf who is tricked by a demon into forsaking her people and runs away to the city where she meets a handsome noble rogue who had fled the Blight in Ferelden and to reclaim his family's title in the new land. The nobility protests his desire to marry and elf, and his family tries to arrange a marriage with some other nobleman's daughter, but they persevere. It's so romantic, though there aren't any good sword fights like in Tevinter's Kiss. That one's full of excitement!"  
  
"I'm almost afraid to ask what Tevinter's Kiss is about," he muttered darkly.   
  
_:Damned dwarf has been using me as fodder for his stories I'll bet!:_  
  
Merrill opened her mouth to give an account of the book when he cut her off.  
  
"Don't tell me, let me guess. It's about an escaped slave from the Tevinter Imperium," he said dryly.  
  
"A gladiator actually," Merrill said, her expressive eyes sparkling with excitement. "He's the strongest fighter in the whole Imperium, undefeated in all of his matches."  
  
 _:Maybe it's not so bad after all,:_ Fenris thought, feeling just a mite more charitable.  
  
"If you want, I'll read it to you sometime," she offered, looking hopeful.  
  
Him? Read a... what did Hawke call them, oh yes, _bodice rippers_. Not very likely, even if the character was based loosely off him. By the looks of the brawny man with the huge sword (and the boxom lass halfway out of her clothes) it was based _very_ loosely off him. He opened his mouth to deliver his usual cutting refusal but abruptly thought better of it. Merrill was being her usual kind and helpful self, looking for ways to create a commonality between them, give them both common ground to grow a fellowship on... she was _also_ letting him help her destroy all of her black magic articles, which spoke of a lot of trust. He would be churlish in the extreme of he was his usual abrasive self with her.  
  
 _:Good behavior should be rewarded,:_ he reminded himself.  
  
He settled for a more diplomatic answer instead.  
  
"A generous offer, but I doubt it would interest me much. I fear I'm no romantic."  
  
"You don't know what you're miss-ing," she sing-songed as though to entice him into changing his mind.  
  
"I'm sure I'll survive the loss," he assured her riffling through another shelf and holding up two scrolls. Merrill pointed to the left hand one, which he tossed.   
  
There was a cubby hole toward the back of her house that had no discernible purpose to it, Merrill had stashed a crate with some candles and a large book on it. She walked back and pulled out he crate, tossing the book on the pile and then went back to the nook. Fenris sensed her drawing power from the Fade by a subtle pressure in the air, and the bare stone of the floor turned over on a pivot, revealing a hole in which a heavy chest that was not just made of ironwood but was bound on all sides and at all corners with steel and held several locks was buried. Merrill drew more power from the fade, stamped her lead foot and pushed up with her hands and the hole smoothed out, popping the chest up onto the floor.   
  
"Would you give me a hand with this, please?" Merrill said.  
  
"What is it?" he asked, morbidly curious in spite of himself.  
  
"Do you remember earlier this year when Hawke was requested to destroy those tomes of forbidden magic?" Merrill asked as she began shoving the chest toward the pile she was collecting.

Fenris picked up one of the rings on one side of the chest and was surprised by how very heavy it was. Merrill took the other and between the two of them they barely managed to pick it up.  
  
"Yes, I was with her when they were destroyed."  
  
"They were not the only ones, nor were they the worst ones," she admitted. "I have made certain associates among the dealers in certain texts. I had thought I made it very clear that I was only interested in information having to do with elvhen history or mirrors, but some dealers see only the staff. It was tips from them that led me to discovering various books of a magic so foul, so... _depraved_ that even to look at it made me sick to my stomach. I couldn't bring myself to read it and this was one of the only times when I decided there was nothing to be _remotely_ curious about. I won't touch it with a barge pole and neither will I allow it to fall into anyone else's hands. I immediately destroyed any copies I found, but the originals had such powerful protections on them that I could not destroy them. I made this box to leech some of the taint out of these books over time. Hopefully this would weaken the spells enough for me to destroy them properly. Now seems a good time to try it, I plan to unleash the tehn'shii ritual on this rubbish."  
  
"What is the tehn'shii ritual?" Fenris asked.   
  
"It translates to "starfire" in the common tongue," Merrill said. "It is one of the very strongest spells in the arsenal of a Keeper. I'm not supposed to even know it yet... but I've always been a bit precocious. It is both a spell and a ritual for purification. The spell destroys the taint of evil and of blood magic by flooding it with raw power, burning away everything."  
  
"So the circles in the floor are...?" he questioned as he helped her deposit the crowning piece of her creepy collection into the center of the pile.  
  
"Part of the spell," she confirmed. "And a way to keep the massive raw energy of it from leaking out and possibly harming anyone on the outside. It is partly a containment circle and partly a calling circle."  
  
"Sounds... dangerous. Have you performed this magic before?"  
  
"Not exactly," she said hesitantly. 'I'm familiar enough with the basics and the theory behind it, but I've never actually performed the ritual."  
  
"Shouldn't we get your Keeper then?" he asked.  
  
"Keeper Marethari has never performed the ritual either," Merrill replied honestly.  
  
Fenris stared, getting that same sinking feeling he always got when Merrill inadvertently dragged them all in for much more trouble than they bargained for. Dragons came brilliantly to mind.  
  
"You want to perform a top-level spell that you only have a theoretical knowledge of, one that has not even been performed by your teacher, here in the middle of the alienage in a city crawling with Templars, who, I should add, are already on edge about mages in general."  
  
"Oh, good point," Merrill said with a vigorous nod. "I'll just draw the shutters then, shall I? Can't have any mysterious lights leaking out."  
  
"That's not really the problem here," he replied, pinching the bridge of his nose.   
  
"Well it has to be here, Fenris," Merrill replied as if it should be obvious to a child. "The tehn'shii is for cleansing magical corruption and this place is thick with it. Aside of destroying articles for blood magic, I have to clean up the mess I've made. That's my responsibility. It would be even if I hadn't been trained as First of Sabrae Clan. I obviously can't just leave it hanging about, that sort of thing attracts more of the same and these City Elves have enough to worry about without adding in dark magic."  
  
"That is... surprisingly mature," he said, trying not to come out and say how astounded he was that she'd said and done two sensible things in under as many hours.  
  
She used her staff to knock out the two wooden supports for the interior shutters for the windows that were placed high up in the wall above her fireplace and they came down with a wooden clack against the sandy stone of the wall. Another nudge maneuvered the closing pegs in place (so that they did not bang about in the wind when there was a storm). The room abruptly dimmed even further once the sunlight was gone.  
  
"You might want to clear out," Merrill said, a firmer, more confident edge to her tone.  
  
He was just getting all kinds of surprises today. Normally Merrill was a chit who was characterized by her lack of confidence; either in herself or in her lack of experience with the world outside of her Clan. Even Fenris had to admit that the one area in which she had never shown any lack of confidence was in her magic.   
  
"I'm not sure whether or not this magic will have any effect on your vala'sl-- um, your lyrium markings," she continued. "All I can say about it is that it will be very powerful, so brace yourself if you're staying."  
  
"With all of these dangerous objects gathered in one place, if your ancient ritual doesn't work there's the chance that casting powerful magic will attract the wrong kind of attention. If this spell somehow goes wrong and you are harmed, the surrounding people will need someone to handle anything that might come crawling out of the Fade."  
  
Fenris drew his greatsword and took up a sentinel position nearby, waiting.  
  
"I'm ready whenever you are," he said.


	7. Into the Fire

Merrill took a deep breath and closed her eyes, reaching for the deep pool of calm within herself, that special place inside her mind and soul that felt of fire and water and wind and earth. She'd found that most people who were not mages thought that mages just drew on the power of the Fade like it was a thing, as dead as stone and just as utilitarian. They thought pulling power from the Fade was like pouring a glass of water. To Merrill and to other mages, using magic was an intimate process.   
  
Those who were not mages thought that mana was like a reservoir within them that just held power the same way a cup held water. The truth was quite different. The raw magic of the Fade was part of everything, as inseparable from the wide world as the soul was inseparable from the body. Most ordinary folk were only actively a part of the Fade when they dreamed, and even then their ability to be one with the true nature of the universal energy was very limited. A mage was able to perceive more of that energy, like an extra sense, and their bodies were able to accept more of it into them. Rather... their spirits were attuned to it to a greater extent. Like a tuning fork next to a harp-string, mages resonated with the raw magic of the Fade and thier ability to resonate with it channeled power from it. So mana was not so much a "reservoir" as it was a measurement of a mages ability to channel magic from the Fade through thier bodies and bring it into the physical world. Their oneness with the wild magic of the Fade enabled them to work their will upon the nature of the reality around them.  
  
Merrill mentally shook her head at herself as she noted the terrible state of her channels and of the resonance pool within her. Her channels were clogged thick on all sides with dark energies, looking less like the rivers of pure flowing energies she was accustomed to, and more like a Darktown sewer. They were filled with "sludge" and the energies of magic flowed sluggishly. The pool within her was also choked with foul energy, spiraling slowly and with a great many conflicting currents within it instead of the neat, clean swirl that Merrill had been accustomed to.   
  
_:When was the last time I did a thorough cleaning in here?!:_ she wondered in dismay. _:Look at this mess! It's...:_  
  
Oh it was _much_ worse than she'd thought. She could feel the tendrils of demon-taint wrapping themselves in and around her channels like the vines of a strangler fig growing into the cracks and crevices of its host tree, intent of sapping and eventually supplanting its host. She was in danger, grave danger, and if she had continued it would have been far, far worse.  
  
 _:Be that as it may, I'm here now,:_ she told herself. _:It's time to get to work.:_  
  
Merrill seized the power through her prime meridian, the easiest and most direct access through to the Fade, and also the one with the lest amount of magical taint. The demon had been leaving that one alone and concentrating on sinking its magic into her lesser channels, the ones she didn't use as often, the ones she wouldn't be as likely to notice since she was skimping on her cleansing exercises. She pulled power into herself, resonating fully with the great song of the Fade and opening herself to the wild magic. The feeling of being open to the Fade was indescribable, her body throbbed as though she stood next to a great signal-drum and her soul flowed outwards around her as her awareness expanded. When she opened her eyes the physical world was washed out to a blurry grey of lesser importance while the fade-overlay was painted in tiny motes of opalescent light, like stars with light-smear tails dancing in and out of everything, the stone, the air, the trees all were connected.   
  
She drew in another breath taking in more energy from the Fade, resonating more in tune to it, then released her breath pushing out her own spiritual power, boosted by the energy she'd taken in and made her own into the air around her. It surrounded her physical shell in a halo of swirling colored light. The motes of energy nearby began to resonate in time to her own, her will subsuming them. Merrill took another breath, taking in more raw energy directly from the Fade and subsuming that energy to her will, then pushing it out into the world around her. The fabric of reality began to shift ever so slightly as her aura surrounded more of the drifting motes that were woven into every facet of the physical world.   
  
It was not a fact that mages went out of their way to advertize, but the staffs that so characterized their power were really nothing more than convenient tools and not the absolute necessities that everyone seemed to think. It was easier to focus magic within their tips as it gave the casting mage a single point of focus on, rather like a glass magnifying lens could focus in sunlight on a single burning point. It was also easier to use a staff since the tip of it was farther away from thier bodies and thus safer and easier to focus on. A talented mage could, with practice and concentration, focus power on thier hands, though working magic that close to ones body and within the field of ones aura was considered generally inadvisable unless one _really_ knew what they were doing.  
  
 _:The Ancient Elves didn't use tools for magic,:_ Merrill reminded herself.   
  
For the Ancients, magic was as much a part of them as their ability to breathe. Their bodies and spirits were never truly out of tune with the Fade, it was said. Keeper Marethari had taught her some few of the ancient tricks, a series of forms, physical movements that when combined with the correct breathing and concentration stoked the fires of magic within and increased ones ability to draw from the Fade. The movements smoothed and stimulated the energies within to enable a mage to maximize the amount of power they could bend to their will.   
  
_:What is that phrase Hawke uses? Ah... kicking it old school.:_  
  
She sank her weight into the starting position her center of gravity lowered, and started the slow, sweeping opening movements to the form, called in ancient elvhen the reeling silk energy. It was a pattern of graceful push-pull actions in which movement originated and flowed back into the dan'tien. Energy up from the ground, spiraling through her channels (not as smoothly as she was accustomed to!) flowing through her central pool out through the gentle circling movements of her hands as though she were reeling a large, delicate strand of silk onto them, then pushing back out into the world around her. The stronger her spiritual density became as she added more raw power from the fade, the more the natural magic of the surrounding world was attracted to it, the more she subsumed to her will. She settled the energy she had gathered and the work began in earnest.  
  
The pattern she had chalked onto the floor and dusted in a powder of lyrium she had collected from some of the deposits that she had found on her adventures with Hawke were designed to bolster her spell. The movements of the form were direct physical echoes of the patterns of the spell so it was written in both the physical world and enacted in the magical world. When she used her body to connect the twin realities during the spell it would temporarily build a contained bridge between them, like a controlled channel with her body as the conduit. The tricky part would come when she had to step within the spell.   
  
_:The only way to close the spell and seal the tear is to bring the collected power back into itself, then ground and center it,:_ she reminded herself, steeling herself for the dangerous and very very _painful_ part of the ritual that was yet to come. _:It's also the only way to clean my channels quickly a decisively before that demon has a chance to try to wield its influence and make it a real struggle for dominance. I don't have time to waste on picking a fight with it when the true battle will be yet to come.:_  
  
She moved in the flowing graceful patterns, forcing her thoughts to remain absolutely focused and her spirit as calm as a tranquil pond. There was no room for fear or second-guessing, she must _become_ the magic, become the spell, and not loose herself. Anything less than complete commitment and complete confidence was to loose, and that was unthinkable. She felt the air around her grow thick and heavy as the power she gathered accreted into a great cloud surrounding her. She wasn't sure if ordinary folk like Fenris or Hawke could see it, but to Merrill it looked as though she were surrounded by brilliant sparks of white light that had long tails of ever-shifting misty fire trailing out behind them like silk being moved in water and they flowed around her, mimicking the patterns of the movements, dancing in slow time to the movements of her form. She shaped them, she willed them, and they were one.  
  
First Form; sun rises softly, sings the wind, flowering lily, rain on the pond, straight sword, dragonfly flies from the surface of the water, mist swirls deftly, sun sets softly. Second Form; sun rises softly, flowing river bends the reed, snake strikes palm out, snake strikes palm in, storm wind rages down, monkey delivers fruit, tall tree sways in the breeze, sun sets softly.  
  
The First and Second forms set the patterns that the energy was to flow through using her body as the conduit. The true pivot of the spell however was the single pattern within the gap between the Second and Third Forms. That was the point during which the caster threw wide the gates inside their own body and took in the greatest amount of energy they possibly could acting as a conduit and letting the pure, raw magic of the Fade into the world pushing it into the pattern already inscribed. The lyrium on the floor took much of the brunt of it, the flowing patterns of energy the caster wove took the rest (theoretically anyway) and the spell was completed by the Third and Fourth Forms, which were nothing more than repetitions of the First and Second Forms, except that the caster was using their own body as the focus, directing the raw magic loosed into the circle.  
  
No room for doubt, no thought for the next moment, all that existed was this. Merrill straightened then sank her weight, resting her palms together on her breast, her eyes closed in gentle serenity, she reached within, unlocking that place inside herself where Self and Fade were kept subtly separate, then throwing open wide the sluice gate and letting the torrent of magic rush through her.   
  
Her channels burned with a cold so intense it was like fire. Raw power rushed through her with the wild torrent of a river in spring flood, just as powerful and just as uncontrolled. Her channels tried to snap and break away but Merrill gritted her teeth and hung on with an iron control, willing the power into the patterns she had inscribed in will and lyrium. She felt her spirit expand and expand until her skin was stretched tight. A shell of flesh was never meant to contain such power and it pushed, demanding more than she had to give. She clamped down on it, pushing back, forcing it to obey her command. It was eternity in an instant when Merrill judged she'd reached the limit of what her fragile shell could endure and fought the doorway within in her closed by inches. The raw magic fought her, but she was mistress within her circle, and she would not loose to it. The force was beaten back, narrowing to a channel then a stream, then a trickle and at last she shut and locked the gate, sealing away the raw Fade.   
  
The raw magic of the Fade hung in the air about her, turning it thick and heavy, like a palpable wight pressing in on her body. Her limbs felt made of lead but she forced herself to begin the Third Form. Every single movement was a struggle, for the wild magic did not wish to flow obediently into the channels she had prepared for it. It struggled and kicked like a wild thing, demanding to be free, trying to force its way out, but Merrill gathered it to her and held it, though her body ached and burned, though she felt weary to the marrow of her bones.   
  
The Third Form finished, the Fourth swiftly followed suit as she fought the very air around her for one more breath, one more movement, gravity weighing in and crushing her. At the final Sun Sets Softly there was no time to savor her victory. The magic that she had woven with her will and her body along the complex, flowing knotwork lines she'd worked into the floor lifted up into the air, spiraling about her in flowing knotworks lines and patterns of light. The power then gathered inward into a single point directly above the center of the inner circle. It looked like the very light of the heavens opened up, shining through in a beautiful glow. A nimbus of misty fire gathered in a cicle around the cloud and then... a torrent of white lightning struck, a pillar of light crashing down not in the crackling streaks of lightning but in a brilliant torrent like a raging river in flood. Starfire. The earth thumped and thrummed where it hit and a cold-hot wind rushed out. The patterns inscribed on the walls and floors and ceiling flared white and all was bathed in fiery luminance.  
  
Now came the truly difficult part. Merrill bowed her head and said a quick prayer to Mythal to preserve her then faced forward and stepped over the line and into the fire.


	8. Chapter 8

Fenris had a deeply rooted fear and distrust of magic. So far as he was concerned it was all arcane witchy stuff beyond mere mortal's true ability to control or understand. He thought that mages were all mad fools for thinking they could possibly truly control it, for when push came to shove they were all mortal and fallible; subject to be ruled by their fears, their desperation, their rage, their weaknesses. In an ordinary person such dangers were bad enough, Captain Aveline filled out paperwork by the barrel-full about "crimes of passion," where a perfectly ordinary man or woman was triggered by great emotion or duress into acts of violence and aggression wielding perfectly ordinary weapons. A mage was much more dangerous. Not only were the subject to their own emotions and weaknesses, but they were tempted by the powerful eldrich creatures of the Fade when their minds were vulnerable. How could any person withstand such temptation? They couldn't, no matter what the abomination thought on the matter. No, magic was a danger to the mage and everyone surrounding that person.   
  
It was with a deep feeling of trepidation that he watched the blood witch step toward her circle and readied himself for what was to come. Perhaps he'd never wanted them, and they had been carved into his flesh in a process so agonizing that he suspected it had actually turned his hair white (because his eyebrows were black), _and_ they continued to draw the bounty hunters of his former master down upon him, but he could not say that his lyrium markings were completely without advantage.

The lyrium markings were a tremendous boon in the arena of combat for instance; they not only allowed him to phase about the battlefield to be where he was needed, they helped him to shrug off the damage from enemy blows and reach inside a persons skin and remove their still beating hearts from their bodies. He liked to use that last one on any slavers he came into contact with, and hoped to one day be in a position to use it on his former master. One of the more useful aspects of his lyrium markings was the added resistance it gave him to magic. He closed his eyes and attuned himself with his markings feeling the hum along his skin intensify and thrum a little through his bones, boosting magic resistance. They glowed ever so slightly and he could feel the icy fire hum through him, a subtle vibration beneath his skin. It wasn't exactly a comfortable sensation, but he'd learned to live with it.  
  
 _:I've never seen any magic performed like **that** , however,:_ Fenris thought a moment later as he watched the mage prepare her spell.  
  
The blood mage had foregone her staff for one thing. In all the times that Fenris had guarded his former master while he had worked his spells, the area had been littered with the paraphernalia of magic; books and bottles of Maker only knew what, bowls for the catching of blood, scarifies to be made... but _always_ near to hand, his masters staff. He was never without it, particularly when there was casting to be done. Staff were how mages cast spells! It was what gave their magic power and focus, a mage without a staff was weaker.  
  
 _:Why is she casting a spell she claims is incredibly powerful without her staff?:_ he wondered as his feeling of disquiet grew. _:Has she lost her mind, doesn't she know it's dangerous? I know nothing of magic but even I know that a mage needs a staff to focus their magic on, otherwise its like trying to gather the wind in a fishing net.:_  
  
He was very much tempted to call the whole thing off and go and get the abomination to help out with the mess. Surely between the group of them they could dispose of the blood magic pile in the center of the room. Fenris had a hard enough time putting up with magic he sort of understood, or at least was somewhat familiar with, this didn't look like _anything_ he had ever seen before and it made him nervous.  
  
The witch, instead of just waving her hand and firing off a spell like she usually did, started what looked like a strange sort of dance. The movements were all very graceful and flowing, the warrior in him was able to appreciate the perfect balance and lack of wasted motions. He couldn't see the movements of magic like he had heard that those who were born with magical ability could, but he could sense a sort of tightening in the air that made his ears pop. The pressure was subtle, but his lyrium markings reacted to it, the buzz of resonance increased as they protected him from the energies being gathered. The circle at the outside was already starting to glow softly, just as his own lyrium markings were. The pressure built up as the witch made one full circuit of the pattern chalked onto her floor, performing her strange dance-like movements the whole way. He knew that had to mean _something_ , but he had no clue as to what, all he could do was watch carefully, wary for any sudden trouble. She made another rotation around the circle, her movements were different but he could sense the steady build up of power, so much that there was a distinct hum in the air and his lyrium markings went from an uncomfortable itch to a slow burn. He gripped his sword.  
  
 _:Why is she stopping? Is it over with already?:_ he wondered as he watched her pause and perform some kind of intricate motion with her hands, which ended in what looked like a prayer.   
  
He was knocked back off his feet when the girl, for all that he could tell, ripped open the Fade! he wasn't the focus of them, but it didn't take his lyrium markings for him to be able to feel the flood of magical energy suddenly being unleashed within the room. Whorls and smears of brilliant white light  darted and swirled around each other, gathering into streams of power, flowing along the pattern chalked into the floor. The lyrium markings on his skin burned as the raw power of the Fade rushed into the room, it was contained but he could still feel it as pressure on him, like the air itself suddenly decided to gain weight.   
  
_:Bloody stupid, overconfident mage...:_ he cursed. _:If we live through this I'm going to strangle the little chit!:_  
  
How many more times was he going to have to remind himself not to get involved with mages? It just led straight to trouble!  
  
And of course the damn spell wasn't over with, oh no. The girl got on with the second half of the working, her movements  mirror copy of the ones she'd just performed, though it was perfectly clear to him that she was struggling to move at all. Fenris himself was drenched in sweat as he struggled to get to his feet the air around him pressing in and making it hard to breathe let alone move. The sourceless wind of a tempest whipping about the room and knocking into him, forcing him to grip his sword to maintain his balance wasn't helping any either.   
  
_:Oh Great Maker!:_ he thought, rolling his eyes. _:She's torn the Veil wide open!:_  
  
That was all he could think might have happened. He wasn'g given much time to contemplate or theorize about it however as a pure, heavenly white light began to glow softly from above, a beautiful hum like a strange chorus of song jangled along his bones as his lyruim buzzed in resonance accompanying it. The light didn't stay pretty and harmless, of _course_ it didn't! A nimbus misty white fire swirled in a circle, echoing the patterns on the floor and then... oh _then_.   
  
Like lighting crashing to earth only multiplied by a thousand. A pillar of pure, raw power descended with all of the might of an avalanche roaring down a mountainside and when it hit the ground there was a soundless explosion. Fenris was knocked backwards, this time not just off his feet, but blown clear across the room to hit the stone wall opposite. His head was reeling and his lyrium marks burned, and the first thing he saw when he could focus his eyes again was the crazed blood witch, walking _into_ the heart of the pillar of white fire.  
  
Fenris couldn't explain what happened next, because... he was somehow certain that it wasn't happening to _him_! A myriad of sensations overtook him but the source of them was a mystery. It felt like he was standing underneath a waterfall, a torrent of punishing force dropping down on him endlessly, beating on his skin without relent. He _burned_! It felt as though he had swallowed liquid lightning and it was trying to burn its ay through him from the inside out, immolating everything in a fire wave so intense that it made the procedure that had given him his lyrium markings feel like a mild sting in comparison. His chest tightened and it became harder to breathe. It felt like someone had dropped a mountain on him, and every part of him felt as though it were on fire. The pain was sourceless, inexplicable and so very, very agonizing. His skin felt stretched thin as though he would burst out from inside of himself. It felt like he was fighting a battle against a raging flood on the outside and to keep from burning up on the inside.  
  
In a strange burst of clarity he somehow _knew_ from deep within himself that the sensations he was feeling were not his own... they belonged to the witch who was currently immolating herself on some magical pyre. She had opened her magical channels to bear the full brunt of the magic coursing from the Fade and was currently playing some insane mage-game of magical "chicken." The point of which was to see how long she could bear the full force of the arcane energies rushing through her like a flood before she was burned up from within. The longer she held out, the greater the cleansing of the fire, but also, the greater risk she took at burning herself out.  
  
 _:Crazy, stubborn creature!:_ he growled an internal curse. _:If we live through this I swear I'm going to lock her in a room where she can't use her magic!:_  
  
It was a strange sort of resonance he had with her, as though he were watching in a dream. He knew things that he shouldn't have known about her, about what she was doing, with the same sort of awareness that came during a dream where even the strangest and most disconnected things took on an odd clarity and significance. He _knew_ that part of the purpose in her casting the spell was not just to cleanse the area of taint, but also to purify herself of the darker magic that the demon she'd made a bargain with had been slowly and insidiously slipping into her bit by tiny bit. He _knew_ that she planned to wage war, and that this was the opening battle and one of the most important and that she didn't intend to loose. He shouldn't have been able to know these, but he did, and he also knew that she had a some minor worry having to do with him, and having to do with her, but that she didn't consider it a great concern at the moment.  
  
 _:I consider it a great concern!:_ Fenris thought irritably. _:Damned mages and their damned secrets. Especially this one!:_  
  
If she was keeping something from him, he'd wring it out of her... provided she lived through her foolishness.  
  
 _:Who in their right mind thinks that using some ancient, theoretical magic spell to rip open a hole in the Veil just to burn away taint is a good idea? That's like using a lightning bolt to light a candle!:_  
  
She'd never been very long on common sense, but there should be limits to how naive one was allowed to be. That silly mage-twit needed constant supervision to keep her from doing something stupid.  
  
Merrill, apparently either having regained her senses, or just unable to take any more of the agony of immolation, made one final gesture, somehow ending the spell and cutting off the power rushing in from the fade the way the gate-keeper of a dam slammed shut the sluice gate, cutting off the water. Fenris was already on the ground, twitching a little, his lyrium markings aching like they hadn't since they'd been burned into his skin. The damnable woman dropped to her knees like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he knew she was still alive but he didn't know how badly the magic she'd unleashed had hurt her.  Fenris speared the tip of his sword into the dusty floor of her room and pushed up, his muscles fighting against the exhaustion resultant from his recent ordeal. He managed to raise his head, and then his torso, then after what felt like a monumental struggle, rose to one knee.   
  
The mage let out a pain-filled whimper and turned her head to look over at him.  
  
"Are you alright Fenris?" she asked in concern.  
  
"We will have words on this, witch," he promised her grimly.  
  
"What kind of words?" she asked curiously, as though she couldn't imagine what he might have to say on the matter.  
  
"Strong ones," he replied.

His body was shaking from fatigue so he just knelt there, panting. He could hear the silly witch doing the same from across the room.   
  
"Well," she said in a more normal tone. "That was exciting, wasn't it?"  
  
Fenris glared at her from across the room and struggled all the way up to his feet, a sudden spurt of temper giving him new strength. If he'd had more energy, he would have stomped across the room, as it was he placed his feet firmly and stepped over the circle. All of the magical items that they had piled up, including the box of ironwood and its contents, had been utterly incinerated. There wasn't even any ash left, it was just a blackened spot of glass in the stone floor. Fenris growled as the implication of what that stupid girl had just walked her little self into occurred to him. She could have gotten her fool self _killed_ , then he'd have to explain to Hawke and Varric and Isabella how he'd just let her do it.   
  
He was saved from having to hold himself back from wringing her neck by a knock on the door. Merrill pulled herself to her feet, mostly still leaning her weight on a staff, and opened it a crack.   
  
_:It'd serve her right if it were Templars, attracted by the feeling of serious magic being cast,:_ he grumbled to himself.   
  
As satisfying as he might find the thought of the silly mage being saved from her own stupidity, Fenris already knew he'd be bound to help her fight off any who would take her against her will. She had already done the same for him on numerous occasions and he knew she intended to go on doing so for however long their association lasted, as such, he was honor-bound to do the same.  
  
"Let me in," a familiar voice said from the other side.  
  
Fenris had never thought he'd be glad to see the abomination, but the thought of having the Healer in to help them out was a surprisingly welcome one.  
  
"Anders?" Merrill asked, slowly unbarring the door.  
  
"Andraste's flaming farts, what was that?!" he demanded, pushing his way in as soon as the bar was clear.  
  
"Oh, you felt that?" she asked, sounding like a child who was caught with her hand in the cookie jar.   
  
"I thought the whole damn city was going to pop over into the Fade then out the other side!"   
  
Anders took in the dim interior, clearly with more senses than just the physical ones.  
  
"Blessed saint Andraste on a polka-dot mule," he said incredulously. "This place is..." he shook his head, clearly unable to describe it.  
  
"Cleansed," Merrill supplied.  
  
"More than that," he corrected her. "It feels like hallowed ground. I've stepped into a few places that could hold off the taint of darkness. This is one of them now."  
  
"At least for little while," Merrill corrected him. "It'll go back to normal in time."  
  
"Whoever sleeps here won't have to worry about nightmares for a time," he said, with just a small note of wistfulness in his voice. Then his look turned sort of wryly amused as he added  
  
"Justice approves."  
  
" _I_ do not," Fenris growled, still working on getting to his feet.  
  
Anders, to give the abomination credit, hurried over to him and began to perform a restoration spell. Fenris had to turn off his markings in order to receive the benefits of it but the feeling of heat seeping into his muscles and revitalizing him was a welcome one. It was a moment later that he could regain his feet, and once that was done his irritation reasserted itself.  
  
"Witch!" he barked, turning to her, and sending her his best scowl. it was a little gratifying to see her wilt a bit and abortively try to back away. "You said that damned spell was for the clearing of taint!"  
  
"It _is_ ," she insisted.   
  
"Than explain to me why you felt it was necessary for you to go shower yourself in it. And while we are on the subject, why not discuss the effect it has had on my markings!"  
  
Even without his being attuned to them or mentally enacting them, (in fact, Fenris was actively trying to suppress them!) the markings were lit up, his skin glowing like he'd swallowed the moon.   
  
"I had no idea it'd do that to you," Merrill replied with some offended heat herself. "The spell is for cleansing taint. I used some lyrium to bolster my power that's all. I've never performed the tehn'shii ritual before, and certainly there was no addendum in the book for when a warrior with lyrium grafted into his skin is standing right nearby even though I cautioned him that maybe it might be a better idea for him not to be there at all."  
  
"Are you saying that your crazed magic going haywire is my fault?" he demanded.  
  
"First of all it did not go haywire, Fenris," Merrill corrected primly. "The spell worked exactly as it was meant to. The veil is sealed, and the area and my channels are both cleansed. Second in the matter it's not anyone's fault, there were simply more unknowns than usual, the tehn'shii ritual is not like firing off a lightning spell or casting rock armor. It's not something a mage can just wave a hand and poof! It's more complex than that."  
  
"That doesn't explain why I..." Fenris cut himself off, embarrassed and unwilling to even speak out loud about the strange sense of connection he'd felt to her during the spell.   
  
It had almost been like he knew what she was thinking and feeling at the time. As seriously as he took his independence, at the time it had been happening, the feeling on not being alone inside of himself had been... not entirely unpleasant. He wanted to cry witchcraft, and if she had been practicing blood magic he certainly would have, but he'd been with her from the beginning of the spell and he'd seen for himself that there was no blood involved in it. His lyrium markings could be sensitive to it when it was active so he knew she was clean.   
  
"Look, I'm sorry your vala'sliin took damage from the side," Merrill said sincerely.   
  
Then she brightened.  
  
"Actually!" she said cheerfully as she darted over to one of her shelves and fished around. "I think I may have something that can help you with that."  
  
She pulled out a small wooden chest stained emerald green with copper inlay in twining vine patterns that was sized at about fourteen inches long and eight inches wide and twelve inches deep and pushed back the lid. Inside was a shallow tray divided into small velvet-lined compartments holding tiny vials of liquids and powders. She pulled that tray out, and the one beneath it which had slightly larger compartments holding various crystals and small arcane baubles, then looked down in the bottom and pulled out a small lidded pot made of alabaster about the size to fit in the palm of his hand. She pulled off the top with a small effort to reveal some kind of blue colored lotion that smelled a little like incense.   
  
"What's in it?" Fenris demanded, sniffing at it suspiciously, wary of some kind of magical trap. It was never wise to just up and accept anything a mage handed you after all, if you did then the next thing you knew you were turning blue or sprouting feathers.  
  
"Embrium and cursebane, a touch of numbweed, finely powdered sapstone, one or two other ingredients, mostly to improve the scent,"Merrill rattled off. "Oh! and the usual dragonoil and widowsease for the lotion base. Nothing harmful, not much magic involved except what I use to help the plants grow. I thought I'd try a variation on a dwarven potion they use for when one of their workers gets a bad lyrium burn."  
  
Before he could protest Merrill dipped a flat tab of wood in the salve and daubed it on his chin where the markings still burned. It was a tingling icy-hot feeling that seemed to leech the burn right out of his skin! A short moment later the burn was completely gone, leaving only behind a feeling of coolness and a mild tingle that felt quite nice actually.  
  
"Be glad he's not allergic to any of those," Anders interjected. "Or else you would absolutely _never_ hear the end of it."  
  
Fenris didn't deign to acknowledge the prattle of the other mage. He was not vindictive but it was satisfying to him to point out all the ways that magic could mess up a good thing. He _could_ have just poured cold water over that cut and been fine, but noooo, the mage had to be all "it'll get infected and fall off" as he slathers on some greasy salve that's supposed to help it heal, and the next thing Fenris knows he's itching and red where the damned healer had to go and smear his devil-salve. _Then_ he'd had the sheer cheek to find the fact that Fenris' skin had a bad reaction to one of the ingredients amusing.  
  
"Some of these crafting ingredients are pretty rare," Anders remarked as he riffled through her box of mage-stuff with an admiring look on his face. "And expertly concentrated I might add."  
  
"Oh!" Merrill said, pinkening in pleasure with the compliment to her skill. "Why thank you Anders! Hawke generously lets me have access to his crafting ingredients from time to time in exchange for this special soap he has me make for him."  
  
"Let me guess, it has heartthorn and tenderwisp and lovebetrue in it, right?"  
  
"Yes!" he she said, evidently surprised he knew of it. "I try to tell him that those don't really do much applied topically. I figure he must just like the smell of them, though heartthorn has a certain astringency to it."  
  
Anders chuckled in seeming amusement.   
  
"Its an old Fereldan recipe," he said. "Hawke believes that it makes him irresistible to the ladies!"  
  
" _No_! Not _truly_ ," Merrill said in disbelief. "But it does no such thing!"  
  
"I know that and you know that, but people will have their superstitions sometimes," the healer replied with a shrug. "I keep trying to tell him that its nothing more than a suckerpotion, but the man swears by it and won't listen."  
  
"Maybe it works despite its ineffectiveness," Merrill said with a small smile. "Hawke always seems much more confident when I give him his silly soap, and he's so naturally charming, maybe it gives him the extra confidence he needs to be himself and charm the ladies with his personality."  
  
"I can't believe you sell suckerpotions!" Anders said, a little teasingly.   
  
"I do not!" Merrill protested. "A Keeper is the Healer of the Clan. As First, it's only natural I'd know all the herbal remedies and potions necessary to keep my people healthy and well."   
  
"Well here in the cities, medicine can be big business, especially the sorts of nostrums people will buy for a problem that probably has no real cure. If I have to see one more fellow about the size of his... ah, nevermind. Suffice to say, you could probably earn your rent and then some if you set up a simple lotion and tonic stall."  
  
"It hadn't even occurred to me to sell my work like a stall vendor," Merrill said, looking wide eyed at the mage for his city-savvy. "In the clans it is the duty of the First and the Keeper and any other hand with an aptitude for it, to make what the clan needs to stay healthy. It seems mean to make people pay for something that will make them feel better."  
  
"An attitude I completely approve of," Anders agreed with what passed for cheer from the melancholy man. "I charge as little for my services in the clinic as I can get away with and still keep in bandages and soap."  
  
"If you'd like, I'll be happy to supply what I can of the basics," Merrill said eagrely, always happy to help out. "The ingredients for basic burn creams and liniments, disinfectants and tinctures for coughs, bruisebanes and healing aids aren't difficult to grow. If I had access to a still I could make them for you."  
  
Fenris watched the conversation bat back and forth easily between the two mages while they talked "shop" without him, like he wasn't even in the room. Was she smiling a little too much at the abomination? He knew that Merrill had a tendency towards cheerfulness anyway but it looked to him like she was enjoying conversing with the mage a little too much.   
  
"I'd normally say you're too kind," Anders said. "But the clinic is running low, and a bad sweep of the rattles is running thorough the alleyways. Children are always the first to suffer it, so in this case I'll take shameless advantage of you."  
  
Fenris felt his gaze narrow at the phrasing that the abomination had used. No-one was going to be taking advantage of anyone here.  
  
"Don't be silly, I offered to help didn't I? There's no taking advantage when it's aid freely offered," Merrill beamed up a him.  
  
"Don't you have some cats in lowtown to chase," he interjected irritatedly into the conversation before the two of them could continue with their little "let's heal the world" fest.  
  
"Fenris," Merrill said in a tone that was mildly reproving. "Anders just came by to see that everything was well, there's no need to be rude."  
  
"So you performed some ancient Elven cleansing ritual," he said ignoring Fenris as though he hadn't spoken, but the glance that came from the corner of the irritating mage's eye said that he was enjoying it. He turned to Merrill and Fenris mentally debated the emotional satisfaction he might derive from throwing something at his head. "May I ask what for? And why is there a glassed over burn on the floor?"  
  
"Oh, I used it to destroy all of my books and the things I used for blood magic," Merrill informed the mage.   
  
The way his jaw dropped was quite comical. Sadly, he recovered quickly.  
  
"Destroy them? So then... you're giving it up?" he asked, looking cautiously delighted.  
  
"Yes," Merrill said firmly. "Keeper Marethari and Fenris and you were right to warn me away from it."  
  
"Well, thank the Maker! This is wonderful news," he said, smiling down at her and looking genuinely happy for her. "You're too good a girl to get caught in the teeth of that stuff, I always thought it'd make me very sad to see you get hurt by it. I'm glad you're going to be okay."  
  
"Well thank you," Merrill said, clearly touched. "You've always been so very kind to worry about me so much, but I guess that's just like you Anders, you always want to help other people."  
  
 _:Great Maker,:_ Fenris thought, rolling his eyes. _:It's so cloyingly sweet in here it's sickening.:_  
  
"Yes, yes can we have done with this love feast," he grumbled.  
  
"As the only warrior in the room I know you can't really appreciate the true gravity of what's just happened here," Anders said, clearly irritated at the interruption and more than willing to talk down to Fenris about his area of mage expertise. "So I'll elucidate for you."   
  
Fenris sent a snarling look his way for the tone.  
  
"Judging by the feel of the air around here," the irritating abomination continued, clearly ignoring the look. "Merrill has just singlehandedly performed a spell that would normally take at least two enchanters if not more. She's also just put herself up as the new target on the haystack for every demon within easy reach in the Fade, particularly the stronger of the ilk. She's proven her strength, and they will want it. They'll target her to get it."  
  
"If she doesn't use blood magic any more they will have no way to take control, with her surroundings clean there's no danger of corruption. The battle is won, is it not?" Fenris asked.   
  
"Not hardly," Anders replied condescendingly. "I'm sure they figure that once she's made one deal with a demon, she'll eventually make more. She might have turned her back on the extra power, but mark me, the offers will keep rolling in."  
  
"And speaking of someone who has done the work of more than one mage in a casting, this mage is very tired from all the work, and would like to have a long rest to recover," Merrill said, not bothering to supress a yawn. "You two may snip at each other all you like somewhere else, I'm for bed. Ooout with yon gents!"  
  
Merrill seized an arm in each hand and very firmly led them both toward the door and neatly pushed them out of it, shutting it behind them. Fenris and Anders both exchanged a look.  
  
"Did she tell you what this is about?" Anders asked him. "Because it seems like a sudden and drastic change. Granted, it's clearly for the better, and anything that gets her away from that awful insistence that 'blood magic is okay to handle if done carefully' insanity is worth encouraging, but... it still worries me a bit to have a sudden turn-around without a clear explanation. She's been so stubborn about it until now."  
  
"Don't jinx it, mage," Fenris said. "The last thing we want is for her to go back to it."  
  
"Do you think she will?"  
  
"She seems resolved, but then again she was equally stubborn about the blood magic for as long as we've known her."  
  
"Try to see the bright side, elf," Anders said. "Maybe she just got homesick. Without her working forbidden magic, her Clan will probably take her back."  
  
"Or maybe that mirror is even more dangerous than she's prepared to deal with," Fenris argued grimly.  
  
"Ever the optimist," Anders said, but Fenris noted he did not disagree with him. A rarity in itself, and on those occasions when the two of them managed a commonality of opinion on anything, it was worth noting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand... Anders! 
> 
> Am I the only one that thinks that Fenris' hair had to have been changed to white, I mean, he has black eyebrows (makes one wonder if the carpet matches the drapes eh?). There's an old wives tale about someone being so terrified that it turned thier hair white, perhaps the process that gave Fenris his markings turned his hair white.


	9. Chapter 9

Merrill looked about the place after Fenris and Anders had been politely shoved out the door. Her magesight clearly showed that every last trace of taint and demon magic had been burned away. In addition there were wards sunk into the stone of the walls and floors and ceiling that would keep away any sort of inimical magic for some time yet. The Eluvian still stood in the corner of its room with misleading quiescence, but now it stood there surrounded by an ancient elvhen mage-circle, a shield and ward combination that would warn her if it suddenly decided to act up.  
  
 _:I suppose I'm safe enough for now,:_ Merrill thought.  
  
She walked over to the tiny pantry she'd made for herself in the main room and collected the last few articles from the shelf. She'd been putting off a visit to the marketplace for the last little while so there was not much on the rickety little shelves; the last end of a loaf, half a link of sausage, a quarter wheel of cheese, and an apple that was just starting to wrinkle. Merrill erased the miniature zapping spell she'd been reduced, out of desperation, into placing around the small collection of food to keep the rats out. She then gathered her small hoard on the table. After that spell, she was famished!  
  
 _:Famished and weak,:_ she thought to herself. Anders had been kind enough to revitalize the worst of it away but she still felt weak-kneed and exhausted, as though she'd tried to swim half a mile upstream and had just now hauled her weary body out of the water.  
  
She quickly consumed the small bounty and wished that she'd kept Anders and Fenris there at least long enough to walk with her to either the Market or The Hanged Man, it was night time already and Merrill had agreed to respect Varric's request that she stay off the streets alone at night.  
  
"I'm full enough for now I guess," she mumbled reluctantly to herself. "I'll just have an extra hearty breakfast in the morning on my way out."  
  
She hadn't mentioned it to either Fenris or Anders because she knew that one or the both of them would either tell Hawke or feel obliged to come along themselves, but Merrill had made arrangements to rent a pony cart for the day to convey the Eluvian in as she headed to Sundermount. The cleansing of the room with the tehn'shii ritual had only been the first step.  
  
 _:A trial by fire to be certain,:_ Merrill thought to herself.  
  
She'd never before felt or imagined such agony as when she'd stepped into the circle and been consumed by the torrent of raw magic burning through every last part of her. It had been like standing in a raging river of boiling lava that battered her from every direction as it poured over her, while on the inside she had felt like her bones had turned to white-hot iron and her blood into liquid lightning as her body, mind and soul had been scoured clean by the agony of the cleansing fire. All she'd known was to hang on. She had felt him there with her then, resonating with her pain and not understanding what was going on. Merrill had felt guilty that he should be subjected to this through no fault of his own and it had been a desire to protect him from it that had woken her to herself and enabled her to use her inner strength to properly end the spell.  
  
 _:Even in it's latent state, it seems that the soulbond still connects us whether we like it or not,:_ Merrill thought with both sadness and trepidation.  
  
The sadness was partly selfish; she'd had plans for herself and for her future and they had most certainly _not_ included the grouchy mage-hater anywhere in them save in connection to Hawke. The trepidation was a mixture of things; if in it's latent state the soulbond was still powerful enough to form such a resonance between their two souls, what would a bond that had been fully awakened be like?  
  
She had read accounts of what a full soulbonding was like, all of them agreed that their partner was always their in their hearts and the back of their minds, never separate. The bonded who had given the accounts had spoken of it like it was a comfort; they were never alone, never had to face anything in solitary for their bondmate was always there, a pillar of unwavering support and love.  
  
 _:Fenris? A pillar of unwavering support and love?:_ Merrill thought feeling a bit uncharitable after so long of having to bear listening to him sling scorn and vitriol at her at every opportunity. _:I would probably first see a Templar sprout bat wings and fly under his own power from Kirkwall to Minrathous! The only thing_ that _man is ever likely to unwaveringly support is an Exalted March on every mage in Thedas.:_  
  
Probably including _her_. He was not shy about expressing his opinion that every mage in the whole world should be at _least_ locked up in a tower, if not held in magic-sapping chains like a Qunari serebaas. That wasn't even counting the especial hatred he reserved for practitioners of blood magic.  
  
 _:The bond is still latent,:_ Merrill comforted herself. _:It's possible that Mythal is just using this soulbonding thing as a way of expressing Her disapproval of my life choices. So I've given up the Blood Magic, and tomorrow I'll go to Sundermount and make things right there. If I can subdue and banish the demon with the Aku'zahn ritual, perhaps that will be enough to prove to my Goddess that I am Her loyal daughter, willing to be guided by Her wishes, and She'll feel that since I've learned my lesson there's no need to hold me into any soulbonding with any surly mage-haters from Tevinter.:_  
  
Even in her own thoughts it was a stretch, but it was really the only hope Merrill had of getting out of this soulbonding thing. She couldn't stand the thought of being chained to him for the rest of her life, and she just knew that he was going to blame her for it if their bond came into fruition. Nevermind the fact that she had as little control over it as he did, all he was going to see was some magically emplaced fetter tying the two of them together, so of course the mage in the pairing _must_ be responsible for it.  
  
 _:I don't see him reacting to a fully formed soulbond with me very well at all,:_ Merrill thought. _:And I can't say that I'm exactly eager to put up with his constant derision of everything I say and do either.:_  
  
The thought of being around him, even when things were normal between them, could be unpleasant at times because it seemed like he never had anything nice to say to her. She could understand having a difference of opinion with her over her life choices, and she could certainly respect where he was coming from and his point of veiw... she just didn't see why he couldn't try to accord her the same respect (or at the very least, just agree to disagree) but he was always _on_ her about it. It made being in his company unpleasant for her. She didn't want to even try to imagine a lifetime of it.  
  
 _:If I win against the demon tomorrow, I shall pray to the goddess Mythal to revoke Her Will,:_ Merrill thought. _:Perhaps if she has been generous enough to save my life by waking me up to the danger I was in by placing me in such a Bonding, she will be generous enough to undo it when it is no longer necessary.:_  
  
It was a testament to how very much she did _not_ want to be Bonded to Fenris that she was even entertaining such thoughts in the first place. Among the Dalish, a Soulbonding was considered a mark of Divine Favor, as well as an expression of the Will of the Goddess Mythal. It was also considered to be a symbol of hope for the People, a sign that, though their Gods were sealed away, They yet had just enough power to offer small blessings and comfort to Their children. It was something, and for a people as outcast and downtrod as the Elvhen, even the smallest something was still _something_. To deny a Soulbonding, among the Dalish, was blasphemy. The Dalish didn't throw that word around like the templars or other followers of the Maker Cult did, very few things were considered acts that went counter to Divine Will, but denying a Soulbonding was among them.  
  
 _:If the Goddess does not answer my prayers I do not know what I will do,:_ Merrill thought sadly. _:Perhaps if we are separated for long enough and there is enough distance between us, and the bond is still latent, it will just fade with time. I must hope that this is the case, otherwise I will face Divine Marriage to a man who despises me. I cannot imagine anything but unhappiness coming of such a thing.:_  
  
Merrill was so wound up by her troubled thoughts on the matter of her potential Soulbonding with Fenris that she had to resort to both a centering ritual and full body meditation and relaxation routine before she could settle herself enough to sleep. And even at that Merrill decided that it was important that she truly rest both her body and mind for the coming ordeal and she cast the magic ritual to send herself into deeptrance, a quasi-meditative state that protected a sleeping mage's mind from the fade, at the cost of some of their mana. She slept soundly and without dreams that night.  


* * *

  
  
Morning arrived and Merrill was up at the crack of dawn erasing the chalked knotwork mage-circle around the mirror and doing a last minute clean up of the place preparatory to her setting out to Sundermount for a few days. As soon as the sun was a sliver over the horizon of the brilliant sky a small cart with a placid donkey rolled up to her door. She had made arrangements for it the day previous, before she'd started in on her cleaning, knowing that she'd be too wrung out when she completed the Tehn'shii ritual to make the trip that very day. Merrill couldn't even begin to lift the heavy frame for the as yet still unrepaired Eluvian but for a few extra coppers, the drover she was renting the cart and donkey (and his braw laddie) lifted it into the bed of the cart for her. She would have liked to be able to make the journey on her own, but the cart and donkey represented the man's livelihood, and as such he would not be letting it out of his sight. She wrote a note to Hawke (or Varric or Isabella in case they should drop by) letting them know that she had left to go to Sundermount on personal business and was not certain when she'd be back. It was still near to dawn when, after stopping at all of Merrill's favorite food stalls in the marketplace (there was no telling when she would be back to enjoy their exotic bounty again) the three of them were on their way.  
  
The trip over to the Dalish camp was uneventful. Merrill blamed not having Hawke along for the lack of excitement. There were no bandits or rogue mages, not even a dragonling showed its snout to make their steady placcid pace go any slower. They made their steady, plodding way through the wilds to the area where the camp was, Merrill lost in thought the whole way. It was only mid-morning when Merrill's little conveyance pulled into the Dalish camp and she felt that the journey seemed to have been over much more quickly than she would have liked.  
  
 _:No point in putting it off,:_ she thought skewing up her courage, taking a deep breath and ascending from the cart.  
  
"Wait here, please," she said to the carter and his nephew.  
  
They were both elvhen, naturally, Merrill wouldn't bring humans into the camp if she could help it, mainly out of consideration for the humans. Her people were not often hospitable to strange Shems, though Marethari was far more open minded about it than many Keepers she'd met. Even though they were elves, the carter and his boy both looked around nervously at all the armed hunters eying them.  
  
 _:It's not them that the Hunters are on edge about,:_ Merrill thought with an inward wince she did not show. _:It's their cargo.:_  
  
It didn't take a genius to figure out what the wrapped parcel in the back of Merrill's cart might be, and by the looks of things, no-one in the clan was at all happy about it. In retrospect, she couldn't really blame them on that account.  
  
She gripped the hem of her Vestments of the First, which she still wore, and steeled herself for what she knew she had to do next.  
  
In Ancient Arthalan, bowing had been part of everyday life. The degree to which one bowed and the order of bowing varied from situation to situation, but it had been considered a sign of mutual respect and an important part of their communal life. In the Dales the traditions had changed slightly; Elves only bowed to other Elves. After the Exalted Marches had sundered their homeland, Dalish Culture had changed the practice even more. Among the Dalish, to bow one's head to another was no longer an acknowledgment of equality or fellowship, it was now a mark of submission. The oath that all Dalish shared was "We are Dalish and never again shall we submit," so to bow ones head, even to another elf, had come to mean a gesture of humility.  
  
Just as in Ancient Elvhenan there were various degrees to which one bowed. Most apologies that required more than verbal acknowledgement could be settled with a display of humility by either party that was not greater than a fifteen degree bow, anything more was usually considered excessive. If someone was truly sorry, and felt that they had wronged another person and wished to display a deeper humility for a more grievous hurt, they might bow forty five degrees from the waist. Even that second bow was quite uncommon and usually reserved for slights that had grown into feuds over the years. There were two other forms of bow, but they were used so very rarely that even a Dalish elf might go their who life and never see it. The Secondary bow was where one knelt on the ground and placed ones palms down but the head remained up and the arms fully extended so that one could look the recipient in the eye still. This bow was usually used as a mark of sorrow... as in for instance, someone failed to protect one's kin, or was responsible for the death or serious injury of a member of someone's immediate family. The last order of bow, called a Final Bow was used almost never, for it marked out a humility so _abject_ that complete abasement was the only way in which ones shame and sorrow could be adequately expressed. It was used to beg forgiveness for a crime so grievous that the wronged party could rightly ask for their life in recompense. With the back of the neck exposed and the hands away from any weapon, the recipent could, if they so chose, remove the head from the body. It was, essentially, offering thier life. This involved kneeling on the ground, placing ones palms flat down before them and bowing their head all the way over so that their forehead touched the ground. For a people who marked their devotion to their gods on their faces, it was indeed a measure of the shame and humility a person felt.  
  
Merrill had never seen a final bow before, and had never thought she would or could do anything so wrong to warrant giving one, but she had, and she would not shrink from acknowledging her grievous offense and giving it (and the one she had wronged) its full due. She had hurt her Keeper, not only the leader of her clan and her teacher, but someone she loved as dearly as a mother and whom she knew loved her dearly in return. What else but a final bow could possibly make up for all the hurt she had given her? What else could convey her deep remorse for following a course of action that was so clearly wrong not just for her, but had weakened her clan and jeopardized the succession of leadership? That alone would have deserved a final bow.  
  
 _:Keeper Marethari would not order my head removed, but she would be perfectly within her rights to excommunicate me,:_ Merrill thought with tension and real fear coiling in her gut.  
  
She knew that there would now be many within Sabrae Clan who would feel that their Keeper should do just that, rid the Clan of the bad apple who had turned her back on them and followed the dark paths of forbidden magic so that her evil did not taint the rest of the Clan. After all, Merrill had turned to Blood Magic once and it was well known for it's nature to corrupt a mage, there was nothing preventing her from turning to it again later, and what would the Clan have done if Merrill succeeded Marethari as Keeper when she went back to the bad?  
  
 _:Well they'd have to kill me, naturally,:_ Merrill answered her own question. _:And I'll bet a large number of my Clan would rather avoid the whole mess altogether and just not have me back.:_  
  
And she wouldn't blame them truthfully. Some things couldn't be undone and Merrill had been resolute in her decision when she had made it, even though it was the wrong one. An apology wouldn't erase her actions and she would have a fight before her even if she were forgiven. It would take a lot for Merrill to win back the trust of her Clan, and trust was absolutely essential to a Keeper. It could be that Marethari, even if she did not excommunicate Merrill, would still not take her back into the fold and certainly not as First. A Clan had to be able to trust in thier Keeper on a bone-deep level; trust that her judgement would be fair and impartial and always with the Clan's good at its heart, trust that their Keeper would look out for them, that thier Keeper would refrain from the temptations of power... Sabrae Clan would not trust Merrill, for in their eyes she was untrustworthy. Who would trust a Blood Mage to lead them?  
  
 _:But regaining what I have lost is not the issue here,:_ Merrill reminded herself. _:Making things right and taking responsibility for my actions and decisions is. What the Clan decides is for later when I have done all I need to do.:_  
  
Merrill had to force herself not to look to the left or to the right, keeping her eyes trained soley on her Keeper as she made a walk that felt like a mile but was really only a few feet. She knew that every last Dalish in all of Sabrae Clan was staring at her, but she ignored the stares and the mutters. Her heart ached to see the hope and sorrow in her Keepers eyes at the sight of her prodigal daughter's return and it near broke her heart to know that she was the cause of it. If she had any real regret about the path she had chosen it was this.  
  
"Welcome home, da'lehn," she said.  
  
 _:When did her voice start to sound so... **old**?:_ Merrill wondered. Her teacher sounded weary, bone tired and sad.  
  
Merrill dropped down to her knees and softly placed her palms flat in the dirt before her then deliberately lowered her head down, down, down. For a Dalish, every inch would be fraught with significance. The skin of her vala'sliin touched the cool earth. Her back and neck prickled with being exposed and helpless as well as the awareness that everyone in the whole camp, people she had known for nearly all of her life, were witnessing her humiliation.  
  
"I know I am not worthy of it," she spoke the words in Ancient Elvhen. "But your unworthy child begs your forgiveness and asks to be given the chance to make it right."  
  
She heard her teachers breath catch in a sound like a strangled sob but Merrill resisted the urge to raise her head. In a final bow, done properly, one did not raise thier head until given leave to do so. There were tales, surely exaggerated, that a pentient remained bowed over for days before they were forgiven.  
  
 _:I doubt she would, but I hope she does not. That demon will not wait.:_  
  
"Please, get up da'len," Marethari said, her voice shaking and on the verge of tears.  
  
Even before Merrill could raise her head she felt the presence of her Keeper next to her, and found herself enfolded in her familiar embrace. Her pride and stubbornness had not let her admit to how very alone she had felt these past years, isolated from her Clan and in the alienage where everything was strange and people lived so separately. She had missed the familiar comfort of her people and her life, but most of all she had missed Marethari. She missed her wisdom and guidance, the soft sound of her singing on a long winters night, the feel of her arms around Merrill comforting her accepting her and loving her, silently telling her that it was okay that she was just a little strange, she was loved and cherished just as she was.  
  
 _:Fenris must be right about something else as well,:_ Merrill thought, for once happy to allow him another victory. _:I am a fool to turn away from this.:_  
  
She could feel her Keeper's body shake subtly with suppressed sobs, and Merrill realized that there were tears running down her own face. Whether they were tears of joy at their reunion or tears of pain for causing her beloved Keeper so much sorrow she could not have said. Her emotions were as overwhelming as they were confused, she only knew that she was so relieved to be back where she belonged.  
  
 _:But forgiveness is one thing, and redemption another. It is my duty to make right the wrongs I have done. My duty and my responsibility.:_  
  
"Keeper," Merrill said, raising herself up so that she could look her teacher in the eye. "I am filled with sorrow to be the cause of so much suffering for you and the clan... I must make it right. More than mere forgiveness is at stake. As the one who created the rift, I must be the one to mend it. It's my responsibility."  
  
"I have only just gotten you home, da'len," she said, pain evident in her voice.  
  
"It cannot be delayed," Merrill said with steady resolution. "The influence of blood magic has been burned away by the tehn'shii, but the root of the taint must yet be dealt with. I'll take that cursed mirror to the cave at the summit, and I'll send that demon on its way. I won't allow it to hurt you or anyone else. As the one responsible for offering it a foothold in this world, whatever my intentions might have been, it is incumbent upon me to finish the matter. It is my responsibility Keeper, as surely as it is yours to guard the clan."  
  
Merrill felt her heart squeeze in sympathetic pain at the sight of greater sorrow bleeding into her teachers gaze even as she nodded her head in acceptance. Merrill had added that last sentence as a reminder to her teacher, who looked like she would have insisted on going with Merrill and exposing Sabrae Clan's only Keeper to grave danger, that her duty lay in protecting her Clan. This was a journey that Merrill would have to make alone.  
  
"I've underwent the Ordeal of Starfire, Keeper," Merrill reassured her, taking her by each shoulder and looking directly into her eyes to will the feeling of strength and certainty into her that Merrill was just now starting to feel.  
  
Now that the task was at last before her, Merrill felt an almost strange sort of calm and assurance take over her. She didn't doubt herself, there was none of the usual second-guessing or lack of confidence, she felt in her heart and soul, that this was the right decision. She was filled with purpose and she embraced it, all of her fears subsided and rock-solid certainty replaced it, armoring her for the ordeal to come. This was right.  
  
"For the first time in a long time, I think, my mind and magic are completely my own. My will is set on this, and I have a strength that will not waver in the face of a thousand demons. Believe in me Keeper."  
  
It seemed that for once, her teacher, always so wise and filled with words of guidance and strength for her people, could not speak. She closed her eyes in acknowledgement of Merrill's resolve, and nodded, tears flowing down the face marked with the valaslin of Ghilan'nain, the Halla goddess.  
  
Merrill rose and walked back to where the carter and his boy waited, only to discover that a few of the warriors had taken the initiative of offloading the eluvian from the city donkey-cart and had placed it instead on one of the smaller halla-carts (not a full aravel, but a simple cart) and were sending the man and his nephew on their way.  
  
"Ma seranas," she thanked the hunter who had done it.  
  
His answer was a surly scowl of disapproval that could have given the ones Fenris gave her a run for its money and despite her calm, Merrill nearly quailed under it and its implications.  
  
"Go if you must, foolish girl," he grunted. "You've hurt our Keeper enough with your quest. Put an end to it right and final, or go and live with the Shem."  
  
Merrill didn't have any argument she could make to that so she simply nodded and placed her hand on the soft muzzle of the halla who had decided to help her take the eluvian up the mountain. She turned her face to the mountain, took up her staff and set out. She was at the edge of the camp when Saliira, a girl several years younger than Merrill who had showed some signs of Talent but had not come into any power yet, rushed out with a small bundle in a hastily woven grass basket. Merrill looked up in mystification at the gift.  
  
"You're going to face down a demon so powerful that even the Keeper orders our hunters to keep their distance," the girl said, some awe and hero-worship in her tone. "Even I know that this might be a one way trip. You go to look out for all of us, just I know you always mean to lethalaan, it would be wrong to send you on your way with an empty stomach."  
  
Merrill smiled in gratitude, for it had been some hours since her breakfast.  
  
"Thank you, da'len," she replied, touched at the unexpected display of solidarity. She'd thought the whole clan hated her. She wouldn't have blamed them if they did.  
  
"Go up there and knock that demon's teeth in!" Saliira cheered.  
  
"By the time I'm through with it da'len, it will wish I had been so gentle," Merrill promised her.


	10. Chapter 10

Fenris woke again in a foul mood, snippy and impatient. His dreams had been different from usual, normally he dreamed of being hunted, and then turning on the hunters. Sometimes he dreamed of the days he had spent in the jungles on Seheron with the Fog Warriors, whose faces still haunted his sleep. Last night he had dreamed of being nowhere in particular, all was calm and peaceful, and when all was calm and peaceful he always expected them to go wrong at any moment, but the dream had continued in a peaceful monotony that had _eaten_ at him as the night dragged on. He was accustomed to his dreams being what many would characterize as nightmares, but Fenris always welcomed the battle, when he fought he always knew where he stood and there was a certain amount of control in his expectations. The unwavering peace of the previous nights dreaming had wound him up tighter than a coiled spring in a dwarven mechanism as the night wore on. The ever-present tension caused by expectation had made him look for non-existent shadows, waiting for an ambush that never came. The restlessness followed him into his waking life, the abandoned mansion despite its many rooms, feeling small and confined, the air stale and hot.  
  
He paced out on the upper balcony, the one that overlooked the inner courtyard of the house he lived in, debating where he should go to work the restlessness out of his muscles. He wasn't in the habit of going off visiting but he found himself willing to venture out that day. His acquaintances in Hightown were limited to Hawke and Aveline, the former could be difficult to pin down even on a good day, and the latter was already busy for the next three days on a training mission with her newest batch of recruits. Isabella was already off looking for whatever it was that she needed to keep her old associate off her back, so she wasn't likely to provide any sort of distraction or amusement, Varric was up to his dwarven eyebrows in some sort of strange family dispute so it was even odds whether he might be in the Hanged Man for company that day.   
  
_:I suppose I should check on the witch, just to make sure she hasn't backslid and started conjuring up demons,:_ he thought.  
  
Then he blinked, and frowned. Since when did he go out of his way to spend time with a mage when he didn't absolutely have to? _Never_ , that's when. And yet, the thought had slipped into his mind without his conscious approval of it. It had seemed perfectly natural when he'd thought of it, go check on Merrill and see how she was faring after that spell she'd fired off. He had to take the other mage's word for the fact that it was a difficult and powerful spell, but the concern and solicitude for her had been unthinking, instinctual... and _completely_ against his character and everything he stood for.  
  
 _:She's bewitched me,:_ he decided firmly.  
  
That was the obvious, no, the _only_ answer for it. She had to have done some kind of blood-mage trickery the the day before and that was why his lyrium markings had reacted so strongly.   
  
_:And it also explains the strange dreams,:_ he added to himself. _:Blood Mages are the only ones who can dreamwalk...:_  
  
Though from all he had overheard (and observed for himself) from his former Master, blood magic used dreamwalking to place a victims mind in thrall, but the caster had to be present within the dream to take control and Merrill had not featured anywhere in it.   
  
_:And my markings feel fine this morning,:_ he thought to himself, loathe to be even-handed when he could simply blame magic for whatever was wrong.   
  
The lyrium in his skin was always at a low-level irritation, like a soft scratch on his skin, easily ignored but often distracting nonetheless. Yesterday the markings had throbbed and ached the whole trip back to the place he slept. His whole body had felt like a slight burn along the lines, except for the ones on his chin, which had continued to feel just fine where the salve had treated them. The previous evening he had been very tempted to take the stuff and smear it over top all of his markings. Native caution and a deep suspicion for witchy items like magical salves, had held him back (plus the memory of the terrible itching on even the small place where Anders had smeared his demon-salve that time) had made him use only a very small amount on a small area and see how that worked. If he had no reaction to it by morning he would consider it safe to use, in judicious amounts. One could never be too careful with magic.  
  
 _:I don't **feel** enthralled.: _

As bodyguard to his former master he had been around those who had been enthralled, and he was familiar with the symptms of someone who had been dreamwalked upon and whose mind and will were under the power of a blood mage. There was none of the mindless need to please, the overwhelming want to do anything and everything to gain even the slightest bit of their masters approval. Fenris tried to mentally picture Merrill in the role of a heart-eating blood magister of the first order, commanding slaves about and forcing people to do her bidding, and reluctantly found the idea to be preposterous. Reluctantly. Unless there had been an extremely strange side effect to the spell she'd cast last night that had radically altered her personality, Fenris had a hard time picturing Merrill, as she was, in the role of an enthralling demon-queen who dreamwalked and tried to bend people to her will.   
  
_:She might have what it takes to conjure the unholy and to deal with demons, but she can't even keep the rats out of her pantry,:_ he snorted to himself.

And when they did get in and eat her food, she congratulated them on working so hard that they must deserve it. Not exactly a prime example of the sort of self-serving arrogance that so characterized the magisters he was familiar with, if he were honest.  
  
If she had continued down the path of Blood Magic, then yes, the demons and the dreamwalking and all of it would have been her inevitable destiny, for there were none who were proof against the lure of power, but despite what he'd said to her when they'd investigated Hadriana's slavepen, she was quite a long ways off from it. She left out milk for lost kittens and puppies, and talked to plants to encourage them to grow, liked to gaze at clouds on a sunny day and find ones shaped like cute fuzzy animals, She was a devout vegetarian, and despite outright scorn and derision heaped upon her at times, she almost never had a harsh word to say to anyone. That wasn't to say she couldn't be stubborn, because she could.   
  
_:Up until yesterday, she had a stubborn streak about that mirror and the blood magic about a mile wide,:_ he thought. _:It's good that she is seeing sense finally, but that thing is still trouble.:_  
  
Ah-ha! So that's what was making him so restless! He wasn't interested in visiting Merrill, he wanted to check on her demon-mirror. Now that he knew how dangerous it was, and Merrill was finally coming to her senses, there wouldn't be any objection to a little help in destroying the thing for good.   
  
_:And if I'm going to go tracking down demons, it were wise to bring a brother of the chantry with me, I suppose,:_ he thought, vague plan forming in his mind.  
  
He altered his steps and loped off across Hightown to the nearer destination of the Chantry. Maybe Hawke was not the only one who could gather a party and go in search of demons to slay. He found Brother Sebastion, for once not knelt in prayer. Instead the chantry brother was actually in conversation with Hawke who was shadowed by Anders (an apostate in the chantry was a strange sight, to be sure). The two rogues were conversing with the mage and Sebastion brightened at seeing Fenris approach.  
  
"You can ask him," Anders said with a shrug. "I don't know what's happened to suddenly change her mind about it, I can only be grateful that she has changed her mind before it's too late."  
  
So Anders had told Hawke about Merrill's sudden shift in direction already. That was good, Fenris wasn't interested in relating tales.  
  
"Maybe she fell in love with our grumpy elf, eh?" Hawke suggested roguishly, nudging Anders with his elbow.  
  
"I doubt it's as simple as that, and what exactly would she have to fall in love with _him_ about?" Anders scoffed, and Fenris scowled in his direction for the insulting implication.

"The way he always insults her at every opportunity?"anders went on, ignoring Fenris' dirty look. "Or perhaps the dulcet and loving tones with which he calls her "witch" and other less savory things any chance he gets just leaves her captivated?"  
  
Fenris was surprised to discover a very tiny pang when the abomination bluntly pointed out his own behavior to him. It wasn't that he outright disliked Merrill, exactly, he disliked mages in general and blood mages he rather hated with a fiery passion.   
  
_:Which rather begs the question of what I should make of her now, if she no longer follows the dark path,:_ he thought.   
  
"That's neither here nor there at the moment," he said out loud, answering both his own internal question and the abominations observations.  
  
"And you say the magisters never take any responsibility for how they behave," the abomination shot back sharply.   
  
Fenris scowled at him and opened his mouth to reply in kind, because he felt another little pang as Anders' words again hit rather too close to the mark for his own comfort.   
  
"So we're headed to the alienage then," Sebastion said, clearly intent on interrupting the incipient argument between Fenris and the erstwhile healing mage.   
  
"Yeah, I think so," Hawke concurred. "I have to see this miracle transformation for myself."  
  
With Hawke in the lead, and himself, Anders and Sebastion following, they walked the distance down the great steps from Hightown to Lowtown and the alienage carved into the old mining pits where slaves had once quarried rock to built the roads of the Tevinter Imperium long ago before the Free Marches had been, well, free. Along the way his companions questioned him closely about the spell that the elvhen mage had cast. Anders in particular had seemed very impressed by it. Sebastion had seemed to be of two minds about it; his faith said that the only taint-clearing holiness that existed in the world was by the grace of the Maker, conveyed by His Bride through the sanctified vessels of Her Servants. The idea that any mage could draw a few lines on the floor and create holy ground by her will alone seemed very close to blasphemy to the devout prince. On the other hand, he seemed very interested in the way Merrill had subjected herself to spiritual immolation via holy fire, likening it to many fine examples among the Saints of the Chantry.   
  
They arrived at Merrill's little place in the alienage and were unpleasantly surprised to find the place unlocked and empty. A quick scan of the room showed a note folded to catch attention and securely weighted so it wouldn't fall on the floor. Hawke read it out loud for the benefit of the one person in the room who could not read. She'd left that morning and taken the eluvian with her to go back to Sundermount, she wasn't sure when she would be back.  
  
"That "so sorry, I'm not certain when I'll be back, please water my plants" sounds more to me like she's not certain if she'll be back at all," Anders remarked after the note was read.  
  
The other three exchanged the same troubled look.  
  
"Well, nothing for it lads," Hawke said firmly. "Grab your gear and hop to, we're off to Sundermount. No telling what sort of trouble she's got herself into this time."  
  
"Feh!" Fenris snorted in derision at the statement. "I can tell you precisely what sort of trouble she's got herself into, it involves demons. And magic. And probably more demons."  
  
Anders rolled his eyes at Fenris' tone but, it must be noted, did not disagree with the assessment. The three of them didn't delay for much longer than it took to ask around the alienage about what time the young mage had left and discovered she'd hired a donkey cart for the day to take a large, heavy object that had been wrapped in a sheet somewhere out of the city. Armed and ready they set out to the elvhen camp at teh base of the Sundermount, if they paced it on the double they'd get there before dark, hopefull in enough time to stop the little idiot from doing something stupid. Fenris didn't hold out much hope for that. 

 


	11. Chapter 11

The Rite of Aku'zhan had come to her through her research, a side-trail that had not been useful with regards to the eluvian, but had been worth knowing just the same. The tome she had found it in had been written in Elder Arcanum, the ancient dialect of the modern-day use-language of the Tevinter Imperium, Tevene. It was a sad fact that most of the preserved knowledge of her people that had not been lost over time and upheavals had been preserved by the culture(s) that supplanted the Elves of Arthalan. The clan's Keepers and their Firsts naturally all knew what was left of the written and spoken language of the elves, more than that they were also expected to know the written languages of the Qunari, of the Tevinters, of the Free Marches, of the Orlesians and _all_   of the written languages across Thedas because there were often texts and scrolls that contained ancient Elvhen knowledge that had been preserved or written about by scholars that had had an interest in the lost Elvhen Culture. When such knowledge was found, Keepers and their Firsts translated it, and added it carefully to the pool of stored knowledge that the Clans kept alive.  
  
 _:It's a risky business, this,:_ Merrill admitted to herself.  
  
The spell itself was... incomplete, she suspected. The scroll she had learned it from was a copy of a copy of a copy, with inserted notes (read, speculations) by the scholars who had researched the original spell written with the Ancient Elvhen characters. The copying process had crossed four language barriers over the centuries so there were likely parts of the original that had been imperfectly understood by one or more of the scholars who had written about it. Not to mention, that often there were words and concepts that did not translate well, especially from the writing system of Ancient Elvhen (which was very very different from any modern or even older equivalent in the languages and writing systems used across the face of Thedas). Fortunately for Merrill, the manuscript she had obtained had been written by a "purist" who had endeavored to include as much of the original tract in ancient Elvhen as possible. Many of the original Elvhen characters had been preserved, and for a First to a Keeper, the ancient Elvhen characters left in were enough to get a real sense of the spell's _true_ shape and purpose.  
  
The scholars who had written about it had _thought_ that the spell was an Elven variation of a Harrowing ritual; The rite of passage used in the Circle of Magi to create a proving ground for a young potential mage to face down a demon in a special "pocket" of the Fade and triumph over it, thus proving that he or she was resistant to the temptations of demons. They were not entirely incorrect, but they were all a lot farther off the mark than they'd thought they had been. The Aku'zhan ritual was a ritual for facing down a demon certainly, it summoned the creature into a "bubble" in reality that was made of half-material realm and half-fade realm, inside a massively powerful containment circle. Upon entry, the mage casting the ritual acted as a gatekeeper for the intermediate world, cutting the demon off from its source of power in the Beyond, but also denying it a physical foothold in the material world. The demon would be locked into a contest of wills, its magical strength truncated by an inability to access its full power while hostless and outside of the Fade. It was a way to bring a powerful demon down to the the level of a mortal mage so that it could be truly and completely defeated, not just sealed or banished. All that mattered within the circle was whose will was stronger. If the mage won, the demon submitted to his or her superior will; no deal, no bargains, no compromises. If the demon won... well, it got what demons always wanted.   
  
_:If that should happen, the spell has failsafe.:_  
  
The Aku'zhan ritual was a way to destroy a demon, even in defeat. If a mage's will should prove inadequate to the task, the demon would take over the mage's body as a host. However, the spell would bind that demon into the mortal form it had taken over and as soon as it tried to cross the containment barrier, the spell would shift into the tehn'shii ritual. The demon would be destroyed, burned away by starfire.  
  
 _:Of course, so will I, but as Varric says, "you pays your money and takes your chances,":_ Merrill thought, trying to jolly herself out of the case of nerves she was developing at the sight of the caves mouth looming before her.    
  
For Merrill this was about more than just the responsibility she had to set things right, it was even about more than protecting her Clan, she needed to know for herself, deep down, that despite all that had gone before she was still strong inside and would not fall prey to demons. She needed to be able to trust _herself_ , or her magic would forever seem to her like it seemed to all outsiders who couldn't resonate with the Beyond, like a dangerous thing that would eventually turn on her. She needed to reclaim her _certainty_. She knew that while the demon still had a pact outstanding with her, there would always be the danger of its subtle influence on her, she must destroy all trace of it within her, burn it out root and stem and branch if she was to continue as a mage. If it came down to it, Merrill would rather be destroyed without a trace by starfire than allow her Clan to be harmed by a demon. This was her task, her mission, her duty.   
  
_:I will win against this demon, one way or the other,:_ she promised herself and with a final deep breath, crossed the threshold and into the gloom of the cavern.  
  
Pride's End was a cave that was both like and unlike the many, many, _many_ other such specimens she'd investigated with Hawke on his adventures. It was cave certainly, but there the similarities ended. It had the feel more of the cathedrals built and used by the cult of the Maker, a place of vast enclosed spaces. The dark, murky aura of taint however put paid to any comparisons to holy places; it was the precise opposite of holy. The feeling of Presence was like a creature that lived and slept and drew breath within the room and Merrill had to refrain from habitually knocking and requesting entry.  
  
It was here alright, she could _feel_ the demon waiting for her, sense its private elation at what it surely perceived as its imminent victory as Merrill unhitched the cart from the Halla and with a final pat of thanks for helping her bear her burden up the mountainside, gestured that they should go and leave her to face her ordeal alone. The faithful beasts left with obvious reluctance and with a great many backward glances, but Merrill was firm, she would not have them harmed. Merrill pulled the cart with the mirror loaded on it to the blood-stained altar at the center of the room. So far as she knew the last blood to be spilt there had been her own.   
  
She took a deep, bracing breath, and pulled out her chalk, positioning the mirror so that it faced back at her, she circled it in one carefully drawn twisting knotwork pattern then she drew another circle, not around it but in front of it, the outer lines touching breifly on one edge. Then around both circles she drew three more concentric rings, between each ring another complex knotwork pattern, with ancient characters for the spell itself interwoven into the knotworks, muttering the words to the spell in Ancient Elvhen.   
  
An hour later Merrill sat back and reviewed her handiwork, pleased that the diagrams had turned out quite neatly. She hadn't underwent any ritual baths or meditation and cleansing rituals to prepare, but she was as ready as she was ever going to be.  
  
 _:I'm more ready for this than for anything else in my life,:_ she thought. _:And it's not a matter of should or want, it is a matter of must and will. This is my path, my choice, and if need be, my sacrifice.:_  
  
There was a calm, a stillness that came when the decision was made. The world and all of it whirling chaos had settled into a single calm and unwavering conviction, like the eye in the center of a storm. In that stillness there existed no doubt, no fear... only resolve.


	12. Chapter 12

So of course the time when they really want to be someplace in a hurry is the time when every bandit, slaver, dragon and tal'vashoth decide they're going to come out of the woodwork and make nuisances of themselves. Fenris took an especially vicious pleasure in ridding one particularly nasty slaver of his heart both in recompense for the crime of being a slaver and for getting in his way when there was someplace else he wanted to be.  
  
The journey had started out slower than they would have liked. They geared up quickly enough and set out but just as they had been about to escape the city, who should be along their path than a novitiate of the Chantry begging for aid on behalf of another novitiate who's family had found themselves in a bind. Even if Sebastion hadn't been in their little group, Hawke would still have taken the request for aid because that was the sort of person he was. He could be sarcastic and irreverent, but when it came down to it, he helped people. Tracking down the two lost children had eaten up a few hours and it was mid afternoon before they had gotten started.   
  
_:We got started, and then the **real** fun began,:_ Fenris thought dryly as he joined his companions on the quick-march along the sand that was slowly turning to rock as they grew nearer the area of the Sundermount (though it was still several hours away even if they were not interrupted).  
  
The Wounded Coast had been its usual rats warren of trouble. There had been no less than three independent groups of slavers, one of which had been smuggling Lowtown children out through the coast. Of course they'd had to make certain of an escort, fortunately there had been a handy group of Templars searching for Apostates that had been prevailed upon to take the children back to their families.  
  
 _:Who probably sold them into slavery in the first place,:_ Fenris thought a little cynically.

Much has he had heard of the family unit being for the protection of a child, the many bond-children sold in the markets for a pittance to pay off a mother or fathers gambling debts or drug habits had proved otherwise in his eyes. He knew Hawke thought that they'd saved those poor children's lives, but Fenris thought that they'd just enabled the family to turn around and sell them again.  
  
 _:At least the bandits are one scourge that won't persist,:_ he thought.   
  
The bandits must have been holding some kind of bandit equivalent to a Dalish Arlethvenn because they were out in force, in droves, in _numbers_ ; one set of which was in a convoy. They'd only come across one set of Tal-vashoth, and for him, one was _enough_. It was at times like those when would have he preferred that they'd had the witch along with them... say what he might about her blood-path leanings, there was no denying she could bring the _fire_ in a battle (as well as lightning, stone, tangling vines, and debilitating visions of horror) and Qunari were weak to offensive magic. Anders could cast lightning well enough but primarily specialized in spells that healed and boosted the abilities of the other members of the party. Still, between them all, they'd managed well enough, but all the side-tracks and diversions (not to mention the time it took to loot the bodies) meant that they would probably have to hole up themselves somewhere that night and continue on their way in the morning.  
  
"This place should be good enough," Hawke decided, picking a small cavelet carved out of the rock by wind and water and well above the high tide mark. The Wounded Coast was positively lousy with caves. The four of them wasted no time in gathering diftwood, Sebastion brought down three pheasants with his bow for dinner and Anders set wards over the entrance of the cave so they could all sleep well that night and not worry about watches.  
  
"So, you and Isabella," Anders said to Hawke as they plucked the feathers off the birds. "If you have any... er, _troubles_ , come see me in my clinic before I open, please, it's likely to be embarrassing enough as it is."  
  
"We have something for that already, but thanks my friend," Hawke said cheerfully.   
  
"How's that working out for you by the way?" the mage asked curiously.   
  
Fenris tried not to huff in impatience. The little twit could be conjuring demons as they spoke and these three men wanted to gossip like housewives!  
  
"She's a skittish one," Hawke replied with a small sigh.  
  
"Skittish?" Anders said, rightly sounding surprised. "From everything I've heard, skittish was never something I would equate with our dear shipless captain."  
  
"Oh, it's not getting her into bed that's the issue, it's keeping her in it," Hawke replied. "She's lusty enough, but slow to offer her love and affection or endanger her heart. Keeps it back, y'know?"  
  
"Hmm," Sebastion nodded, looking sympathetically at his friend. "I'd figured she'd be as much, that's why it sort of puzzles me that you chose her, Hawke. I would have thought you'd try for Merrill, she's a good girl, aside of the blood mage thing. The sort that a man builds a life with, if he's free to do so."  
  
Fenris liked the conversation less and less as it wore on, but couldn't rightly say anything about it since they were wroking as they talked and he hadn't really been invited to participate in the gossip session.   
  
"You sound like you've given this some thought," Hawke replied with a wide, teasing smile.   
  
That smile was the same one Isabella got when she found something interesting enough to warrant making a profit off from, or at least find amusing.   
  
"What? No!" the chantry brother denied quickly and vehemently. "She's... well, not to put too fine a point on it but there would be several objections to it, not the least of which is that I'm a sworn brother to the chantry and she's a devout, well, _heathen_. She's a perfectly nice girl, don't get me wrong, but I belong to the Maker and Andraste, I could never be with someone who worshiped false idols."  
  
"A pity that," Hawke agreed. "Sad thing is, I'm pretty sure she feels the same way about most of us here. That and she's all about the preservation of her precious Elvhen heritage, if she were to pick a human she'd probably be a bit reluctant about it."  
  
"That reminds me," Sebastion said. "Fenris, have you tried talking her out of her cult-worship? Merrill should have a place at the Maker's side, but I'm sure she won't listen to me seeing as I'm not her kind, maybe she'll listen to you?"  
  
"Where in this world would you come up with such an idea?" Fenris replied a trifle scornfully. "The witch listens to no-one, least of all me. And leave me out of your evangelism, it's bad enough the mage won't stop proselytizing at every opportunity."  
  
"Is it wrong to think that all people have the right to be free, regardless of whatever gifts they were given at birth?" Anders replied readily.  
  
"Only if that freedom you want so badly doesn't result in demons and abominations popping up out of the ground at the drop of a copper," Fenris scoffed.  
  
"Oh, knock it off you two," Hawke grumbled, turning the birds on the spit. "You're both right in your separate ways, so leave off."  
  
Fenris and Anders both looked like they would have liked to keep arguing, but in the interests of a quieter evening (and in not pissing Hawke off) they let the argument die.  
  
"And back to your original question," Hawke said, with a wry smile. "I'm not saying I didn't consider making a play for her, she's a very lovely-looking young woman. She's kind, and sweet, and giving, seems the sort who could make a man happy for all of his days. But... there's her obsession with that mirror, and she's a mage and an elf, and there's my mother's feelings to consider. Now if I were in love with her, none of that would matter of course, but it just didn't happen that way."  
  
"Instead, you want the hard sell with the fear of commitment. Masochist," Anders replied.  
  
Hawke chuckled ruefully.  
  
"You may have me there, Anders," he said. "Maybe if I get really lucky I can convince Bels to try a threesome!"  
  
Fenris, unaccountably, scowled in his direction. Oh, he'd seen some bedroom acrobatics in the Tevinter Imperium that he was sure would make even Isabella blush, so it wasn't like the idea of a threesome was particularly shocking to him. Orgies were almost the norm rather than the exception among the high class, and many of the wealthy had as many bedroom slaves and concubines as they had houseworkers (and a good number who pulled double-duty). Now, that wasn't to say that magisters didn't marry; they married mage bloodlines and gave lip-service to the "one man one woman" rule of Holy Writ just like nearly every other aspect of holy writ. The women involved in these, even the willing ones, were often treated as chattel, mere vessels for the mage's seed and instruments for their pleasure.   
  
His hand instinctively twitched toward his sword. He would kill any who treated her in that manner, regardless of who they were. The instinct took him by surprise. He considered Hawke to be a friend of greater importance than the witch, she was an encumbrance to be suffered while in Hawke's company, but his reaction to the idea that she would be taken as another lover, one of lesser status, had been a flash of protective fury. Protective, or was it possessive? Neither option made any sense at all to him.  
  
"Then I'd be expecting you both for penance the morning after," Sebastion chided mildly.   
  
"Oh I know the lass deserves better than that Brother, it was merely a jest," Hawke replied with a placating gesture. "I would not let Merrill settle on any man who would treat her so, and I wouldn't treat her that way myself. Besides, Bels would have my hide for the suggestion, you know how she dotes on Merrill."  
  
The conversation drifted after that, and Fenris didn't really pay it much heed, his thoughts were distracted by his own reaction to the subject of one of their band taking the young elvhen mage as his lover. He'd always thought that he didn't care one way or the other about the witch, or if he did have any thought toward her, it was one of censure and dislike. His internal reaction to the conversation would seem to suggest otherwise. If he truly didn't care about her one way or the other, then he would not have reacted with such protectiveness. He refused to even entertain the notion of possessiveness, for it was utterly and in all ways inconceivable. He had not ever wanted any claim on her, the less he had to do with her, the happier it made him.  
  
 _:But that doesn't explain this feeling of urgency I feel,:_ Fenris thought, his spirit disquieted.  
  
All day long there had been a feeling of hurry, hurry hurry in the back of his mind, a sort of quiet desperation to be always moving, to get to someplace before he was too late. Even right at that moment, if he had not been encumbered with his comrades he would have been rushing swiftly to the east, toward the Sundermount. He could feel the direction he needed to be going like a constant niggling worry in the back of his mind. It was a tension that mounted the longer he remained in one place, causing him to...  
  
"Do you always pace like that?" Anders asked him.  
  
"Is there some other way you wish me to pace, mage?" he shot back irritatedly.  
  
"I set wards on the camp," he replied. "There's no need for you to stand guard."  
  
"And I shall trust your precious magic just as soon as the sun rises in the west. Until that day, leave be."  
  
"Suit yourself, but don't stay up all night. You're our heavy hitter, and if you're tired from lack of sleep, I'll have to pull double duty."  
  
"Your concern overwhelms me," Fenris said, his tone implying otherwise.  
  
Anders leaned back against his travel pouch and pulled his robe over him like a blanket to go to sleep and Fenris resumed his thoughts from where they'd been interrupted.  
  
 _:It's not natural, this concern, it can't be,:_ he thought. _:But I have no other explanation for it.:_  
  
If he thought about it, he could even sort of pin-point where it had begun. The other day he'd checked on the mage after she had fallen in a scuffle between their party and some slavers. It had been an ordinary enough gesture, and ordinary sort of day for him, but then when she opened her eyes and looked up at him it felt as though the world had suddenly shifted. His whole being had buzzed awareness, a feeling like a thunderclap reverberated throughout him and the world had seemed to fade to grey for a moment. There was one spot of living color brilliant and blazing as a sunrise; her face. Her eyes had been a green so intense it was impossible to describe and he had felt drawn to her, a sudden awareness, not quite a desire but just a feeling of connection. And then the moment had passed, or at least the connection had been disrupted, for Merrill's eyes had widened as if in dismay and she'd scrambled back away from him as if he'd suddenly sprouted demonic features and tried to bite her.   
  
_:Wait... it's not just me then,:_ Fenris realized suddenly, the review of his memory supplying him with information he had overlooked in his present distracted state.   
  
The entire time he'd been experiencing the restlessness and the strange dreams, he'd assumed that it was either something wrong with _him_ personally, or that the witches blood magic was finally becoming what he had always known it would be; a force used to supplant the will and control others. This latest bit of information suggested that whatever was going on had _her_ spooked too.  
  
 _:And there was also that time I took her home,:_ he thought.  
  
His actions had been justified by his logic, but he knew deep down that it wasn't really concern about Merrill's inability to control her magic while inebriated that had prompted him to wrap her in a cloak and carry her back to her home like a Chasind war-prize. He simply hadn't liked the way the other males in the establishment had been gawking at her in that damned Rivani handkerchief masquerading as a dress, with her skin on display for anyone to look at and some assholes seeming to think that if it was there they were welcome to touch...  
  
 _:What the--?:_ Fenris was brought up short as his lyrium markings reacted to the sudden, slightly murderous shift in his emotions as thoughts of what he would have done to anyone foolish enough to lay hands on that pale skin formed in his mind. Moon-pale lines stood out on the dark bronze of his own skin, a message telling him more clearly than anything else, that whatever he might have previously thought about how much he didn't care about the situation, he cared. He cared more than he was willing to admit even to himself.  
  
 _:Mind back on track fool,:_ he reprimanded himself, bottling up the emotions and setting them aside so that he could think clearly.   
  
_:There was something else important about that night, what was it?:_  
  
He mentally skipped over the trip back to her place, choosing instead to focus on reviewing what was said between them, for his instincts told him that there was the important bit of information that was nagging at him.  
  
 _:The favor!:_ he realized a moment later. _:That's right, she went out of her way to ask me to promise not to touch her.:_  
  
At the time he'd been both surprised and more than a little affronted. In the years they had been around each other on and off throughout Hawke's adventures physical contact had never been part of their interactions. On the rare occasions when he'd _had_ to be close to her, he'd assiduously avoided any sort of contact (for which Anders and Hawke both teased him about being afraid of "mage cooties"). Her request had certainly pricked his pride more than a little. He could understand himself wishing to treat the mage like a contagious disease, but Merrill had never given any indication that she felt an aversion to him.   
  
_:What if it wasn't an aversion, but something **else**?:_ he wondered. _:She said something about being "better safe than sorry," and "just a precaution." That tells me with certainty that there is something to be concerned about and it's not just my imagination. And if there is something to be concerned about, she's **keeping** it from me!:_  
  
He couldn't imagine what it might be, not a disease of any sort; they had Anders for that sort of thing. It couldn't be Taint, that kind of thing was not something that could be hidden.   
  
_:It has to be something magical in nature,:_ he thought. _:Something she either cannot or will not discuss.:_  
  
For all he knew it could be some kind of Dalish societal tabboo. Then hard on the heels of that thought came another one, an interesting one.  
  
 _:Maybe that mysterious something is the explanation for her odd behavior lately.:_  
  
Granted, the witch was always a little bit odd, so shy and awkward, like a mousy little scholar that doesn't get out of her cubby full of books to interact with the normal world very often and so doesn't understand how people interact, or when someone is joking with her. But suddenly turning her back on her chosen path, a path she followed stubbornly despite everything that everyone around her warned her about; her mentors, her peers, even the evidence of her own eyes? A path she had given up her people and her way of life and everything good and familiar to her to pursue? If she was stubborn enough to give up everything on the slender hope of getting good out of evil, it flew in the face of her character that she would just one day suddenly wake up and decide to change her mind. That would be like Fenris deciding that this whole "escaped slave" business was for the birds and he'd really rather just go back to his master like a good little piece of property. She was every bit as stubborn as he was and had proven so time and again.  
  
 _:But she'd have to be, naturally,:_ he thought. _:A weak-willed mage is demon-fodder.:_  
  
Controlling the elemental forces of nature took will power and internal strength, the confidence of a mage was both their protection and salvation. A mage who could not master themselves would _never_ master their power.  
  
 _:And if she can cast a spell as powerful as Anders said that Tehn'shii ritual was, then she hasn't lost herself or given into pressure; she must be as confident in her decision to change as she was in originally making the decision to use whatever means necessary fix that demon-mirror,:_ he reasoned.   
  
Under normal circumstances, he would be damned before he spent so much time puzzling over the vagaries and motivations of the witch, but he knew in his bones that he was mixed up in this somehow, and if he didn't figure out how, he just knew he was going to find himself bit in the ass by it when he wasn't expecting it.  
  
 _:I can't even begin to puzzle out what sort of magical conundrum involves the two of us and a ban on physical contact,:_ he thought. _:Her request that we avoid touching would suggest that whatever it is, it is something she wishes to avoid.:_  
  
If it was this mysterious condition that had woken her up to the dangers all around her in the path she had taken, Fenris couldn't think it entirely a bad thing. But if it involved him, he figured he had a right to know about it.  
  
 _:And when next we meet, I shall have it out of her,:_ he decided.   
  
It wasn't like getting the little twit to talk was difficult, it was getting her to make sense when she did that was the trick of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad for the kudos and support for this, I know that it's unusual as far as pairings go and I'm happy with the positive feedback. Thank you for all those who have reveiwed and dropped comments, they make my day (and hurry along the posting. A funny thing about this story... it's not actually the story I'd wanted to write originally. When I was playing through the game I wanted to write an redemption story that took place after the end but I hadn't made it to the end, so I started on this one to tide me over and it got long. I have plans to write the story that is currently summarized on my hard drive but it might be a while. On a side note, did you all see that Trailer for Inqusition from E3? Youtube it if you haven't, it's gonna be awesome! Anyway, long note is long, thanks for all the wonderful support see you in few days on the next post.


	13. Chapter 13

Merrill told herself she wasn't afraid and deliberately ignored the clenching in her stomach that belied her thoughts. She had been nervous when she had first sought out the attention of the spirit because she knew it to be a powerful one. Dalish legend held that the demon had been sealed away in the last battle between the Elves of Arlathan and the Humans of the Tevinter Imperium. It was said that the ancients of Arlathan had unleashed horrors upon the world and that the haunted the mountain still, unaware that the purpose for which they had been summoned had long since passed. The most ancient and powerful of them all (and Merrill had thought, in all of her fifteen year old wisdom, that if it was old and powerful it must know what she needed to know about the Eluvian) was sealed away in a cave at the top. It was this demon, who had been so very agreeable and helpful when she had come to it asking for aid in restoring the luvian and her people's history, that she would now have to face down. When she was in that circle and locked in the contest of will against the demon, the slightest wavering in her attention and will would spell defeat for her; this demon was one of the most powerful specimens of its kind, a creature that remained sealed in this cave from the last days of the ancient war between the elves and the Tevinter Imperium.  
  
The young Dalish mage resolutely took up her staff and placed herself inside the bare circle in front of the mirror, facing east to the rising sun. With staff in hand her body moved in place in the staff-form motions of the form Blue Dragon Greets the Dawn. Power built around her, the woven knotworks of the circles surrounding her lighting up with pale moonglow, and aurora of white specked with satr-motes of raw power flickering upwards intot he air like sparks from a fire. The ancient sigil that the pattern was formed for wrote itself into the air in complicated, precisely placed strokes. With a firm thump of her staff at the end of the pattern to ground the sign, which flared brilliant white for a moment then joined the pattern in the outer circles around herself and the eluvian, Merrill faced southward and performed the motions of the form Red Eagle Soars to the Sun. The power of the spell increased exponentially with every motion, until the air was so thick with power it felt like her staff was pushing through water. A thump to ground that part of the spell and Merrill turned to face west and performed the pattern White Tiger Holds the Storm. By then raw power was so thick around her that the air was a crushingly heavy weight, one that she had to force every movement like fighting upstream against a rushing current. Finally north, to face the mirror, performing World Snake Enwraps the Great Tortoise. When she brought the end of her staff down to ground the final sigil of the spell the world around her washed white so brilliant it was like being at the heart of a lightning strike. She felt the air around her twist and squirm inexpicably, like two rivers flowing in opposite directions trying to merge, with a great heave of her will, Merrill seized both currents, looped them through her channels and poured them both into the knotwork patterns of the spell. Two realities merged with her at its heart, the gatekeeper. The surrface of the mirror rippled.  
  
"Spirit of the Dark Between, bound by our pact," she called firmly. "Come Forth!"  
  
The surface of the mirror warped and shifted, looking like the surface of a pond with a stone thown into it. Through the mirror stepped a creature she had never seen before, the Spirit that Merrill had made a deal with in exchange for information had worn a pleasant seeming, looking benighn and almost elfin.  
  
 _:So it **has** lied to me,:_ she thought, shaking her head at just how easily she had been fooled by appearances. _:Of course I would be more sympathetic to something that looks familiar.:_  
  
All the more reason why she was responsible for it. All the more reason why it must be stopped there.  
  
 **"Mortal Creature,"** it growled at her, its voice pounding into her like the beat of a message drum. **"Have you come to honor our agreement, at last? Speak, all the knowledge you desire shall be yours."**  
  
"The terms of our agreement are null and void, Demon," Merrill said firmly. "It was precisely stipulated that neither by word or deed or dark leaning would you attempt to hold sway over my thoughts and ations. I have discovered your influence wrapping my will in magical restraints. I have come to end this."  
  
 **"Foolish child,"** the spirit replied, sounding amused rather than nervous. **"Do you think that you can best me? I was old before the first of your kind built thier home in Arthalan, mighty before your kin were slain in the red fields of Tedreill."**  
  
"And yet, your mightiness, you have remained bound in this cave for centuries," Merrill pointed out, reminding both it and herself of this fact.  
  
 _"A minor oversight, brought on by hubris, one I shall not repeat here,"_ it said. _"Remove your barrier weak mage, and let me pass into this world once more. You are not capable of standing against me."_  
  
Merrill shoved at the spell, locking the cirlces in place and forcing the demon the rest of the way out of the  mirror and into the world. it had physical form, but was cut off from its place of power, here in the circle, she was gatekeeper, her power reigned.  
  
"The only way you're getting out, is through me," Merrill said. "I am the Keeper of this place, the watcher at the gate. I stand on the bridge and none may pass. It is you who shall give way to me!"  
  
Merrill brought her staff before her, forcused her will into its tip and pointed at the demon before her. She brought her eyes up to meet the shifting, blazing impossible depths of the demon's eyes. She had seen the misty skyfire tangled with coruscating colors and glittering with stars in the far north at winter time, and the eyes of a demon with just as beautiful, just as cold, just as remote and just as mesmerizing as that beauty in the night. She met its gaze, pushing out with her will, forcing a connection into place. With a final shove, she felt their gazes lock and hold, their wills clashing like two great rushing rivers meeting head on. There was no spell or excersize that would make lesser or greater the force of the magic it brought to bear on her and she on it, it was pure will and nothing else. Merrill would stand her ground here, for the moment she wavered it would push through. She was ready, and she would not fail. Her staff thumped downward once, sealing the spell as she invoked the final command, a resolution, a defiance.  
  
"Kamae'te... Soh!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters that follow are the ones I basically wrote the whole fic for and they are my favorites so far. I hope you all enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them. Thanks to all those who had dropped kudos and sent reveiws my way. As for the fact that we're thirteen chapters in and have nary a smidgen of any romance yet, I can only say that writing an in-character Fenris and Merrill romance is tricky. I think in this case the soulbond is a necessity because I can't imagine there being any romance between the two of them any other way without the words kicking and screaming being involved. ^_^


	14. Chapter 14

If Fenris had thought his previous two nights had been restless, they were _nothing_ compared to the near-nonexistent sleep he'd gotten in the cave that night. He had done nothing but toss and turn all night, an incredible and indescribable pressure weighing on his mind and soul. It had felt like some great creature had held him in an implacable grip, staring hungrily at him and bringing him slowly, slowly, slowly closer, then he'd struggle free, beating the creature back only to be surrounded again. At other times in the night it had felt as though he were pushing against an incredible weight, like standing under a powerful waterfall and trying to remain on his feet despite the punishing weight of the water pounding on him. Always he was holding his ground, standing firm against some powerful nameless force, trying to force him downward, force him to bow his head, force him to submit.   
  
"We've dallied here long enough," Fenris snarled, already packed and ready to go as soon as the first sign of grey had edged the horizon.  
  
"Andraste's swete mehrcy mon," the Starkhaven rogue said, his brogue stronger when he was half asleep. "D'yeh ken it's not even dawn yet?"  
  
"Yes, at least wait until there's light to see by," Anders seconded.   
  
"Do as you like," he growled, not willing to wait a single instant more.   
  
He'd had to put up with that awful, maddening pulling feeling, driving him onward, driving him _mad_ , all night long. He needed to be there. He could speak with the witch about whatever the hell it was that was doing this to him, and if need be, drag her before her Keeper and force her to undo it. But that would come after he'd gotten there. It was time to go!  
  
"You may catch up to me."  
  
"We haven't even eaten breakfast yet," Hawke yawned. "I make it a rule never to fight on an empty stomach, and so should you, you have less stamina that way."  
  
Since the man was passing around dried meal rations and not trying to build up the fire to waste time cooking something, Fenris subsided reluctantly.  
  
"We could be walking and eating these," was all he said.   
  
The other three blinked blearily at him.  
  
"Are you alright?" Sebastion inquired. "You look..."  
  
"Like you've been wrestling with darkspawn all night and it's only _improved_ your looks," Anders supplied.  
  
"Haven't been sleeping," he grumbled. "Now can we be off?"  
  
"Oh sure, daylight's wasting," Hawke said lightly. "Except that... no, the sun isn't even in the sky yet."  
  
Fortunately for his continued peace of mind, his companions cleared the cave as they ate and they were indeed off as dawn lightened the sky. A soft mist shrouded the ground and the mage complained about the chill dew on the edge of his longcoat but Fenris ignored him. Hawke seemed willing to respect that Fenris wished to be on their way as quickly as possible and did not slow their pace. They ambushed a camp of slavers as the sun cleared the horizon and the day began, which to Fenris' mind was reward enough for the early rising, getting the jump on these sorts was always more satisfying than stumbling into an armed ambush.   
  
An hour later they stumbled across a cave, out of which a horde of those awful giant spiders came crawling. He was not in the mood to put up with delays that day, and his lyrium responded to his sense of urgency by giving an extra boost to his strength and speed, enabling him to dispatch the vermin in mere minutes, a personal best for him.  
  
"Andraste's mercy, Fenris," Sebastion remarked as he speared the last one dead with the tip of his sword.  
  
"You didn't leave any for me," Hawke agreed.  
  
"We're wasting time," he said impatiently.   
  
"A moment, I've found a stack of crates over here," the rogue replied.   
  
"It's just going to have moldy useless clothes and bit of string," Fenris huffed.   
  
Granted, there were times when it yielded good results, but Hawke's obsession with investigating every half-empty crate and barrel could be _beyond_ tedious.  
  
"Hey look, a gauntlet!" he said triumphantly. "And here's the other one... well, most of it anyway. It's a bit chewed around the edges but..."  
  
Fenris eyed the find and mentally assessed its worth at sixteen coppers, if that.   
  
"Yes, yes, you can get yourself a loaf of bread and a dozen eggs," he growled. "The mountain is that way."  
  
He stomped off, leaving his comrades to catch up.  
  
"Is it just me, or does he seem extra cranky this morning?" Fenris heard Anders remark behind him.  
  
The rest of the morning passed mostly without incident, and the foursome jogged into the camp at mid-morning to discover it a hive of activity. There were twice as many aravells as there usually were, the colors flying from their tops and sides on the sails of the landships an indigo with white trim instead of the red of Sabrae Clan. There were more elves, a lot more elves, and they were running about greeting each other. Fenris was conscious of even more curious stares in his direction, and the back of his neck itched in awareness at the feeling of arrows being pointed in the direction of him and his comrades.  
  
"Andaran'antishan," Keeper Marethari greeted.   
  
She was knelt on the ground before a fire, another older-looking elf with her. His lyrium markings warned him of the latent power in those two, resonating slightly with the feel of the Fade around them. Another mage then.  
  
"And to you, Keeper Maraethari," Hawke greeted cheerfully. "Merrill said she was coming out for a visit and she didn't ask us to come along. My feelings are hurt. We thought we'd just drop by and..."  
  
Fenris, not much for social niceties even on a good day, dispensed with the small talk and shoved past them, the insistent ephemeral _pull_ dragging harder at him now that he was so close. They could stay and chit chat all they liked, there was someplace else he needed to be right then.  
  
"Where is he going? Fenris? Hey!" the rogue questioned.

Fenris paused, and glared impatiently over at them for the delay.  
  
"Merrill has gone back to the place where it all began, to end the matter," said Keeper Marethari. "In this I cannot interfere, and dare not send any of my Clan into danger."  
  
Hawke probably heard the unspoken plea from the poor old elvhen woman. Fenris felt a small pang of pity for the older woman for having to love and care so much for such a self-centered little brat.   
  
_:Not self-centered,:_ honesty forced him to reassess. _:She gave up her place in her Clan and her home for what she feels is the greater good though the people she sacrifices for will not thank her for it. So not self centered, but certainly daft. And dense as a stone. And blind. And foolish. And--:_ He cut himself off. Nevermind.  
  
"If you're going Shem," a young man with lithe, delicate features characteristic of all their people but who also looked vaguely familiar in a way that Fenris couldn't quite place. "I'll be after goin' wi' yeh."  
  
"And you are?" Hawke questioned.   
  
"Dermayen of Alerion Clan, Second to Keeper Tenuviel," the young man said proudly.   
  
_:Ah, great, another mage. Just what we needed.:_  
  
"And what's your stake in this, as though I need to ask," Hawke queried. "I've siblings myself, so I see the resemblance, though you two do look different."  
  
"Merrill takes after Mum," the young man said, with a slightly rueful look.  
  
Fenris shot the two another impatient look.  
  
"Come along if you're going," he growled. "But slow us down and we leave you."  
  
He'd had enough with the niceties, he made for the edge of camp where the mountain awaited.  
  
"Is he always like this?" the elf-mage questioned aloud.  
  
"Oh no," Anders assured him as they set out. "Often, he's worse."  
  
The climb up the mountain was unpleasant. There were demons and apparitions and shades out in full force. The very stones beneath his feet seemed to vibrate in resonance with powerful magic and his lyrium markings would not stay quiet. There was something big and strange happening. Something powerful. The Guardians were a nuisance, but powerful, even the nagging sense of urgency that seemed to give him an extra strength born of impatience wasn't enough for him to make quick work of them. At last the mouth of the cave yawned before them and Fenris was about to storm through, when the elf-mage caught his shoulder and stopped him. On instinct, unwilling to pause now that he was so near, Fenris markings flared to life and he phased right through the boys restraining hand.  
  
Fenris whipped around, face in a snarl at any attempt to thwart him from his goal, and hoisted the boy up into the air by his throat, points of his gauntlets digging into either side of his tender young neck.  
  
"Touch me again, mage," he snarled. "And it will be the last thing you do."  
  
"Just trying to warn you about the spell," the boy gasped.   
  
Fenris dropped him and attuned to his markings a little more, belatedly sensing the edges of the magical array.  
  
"It's powerful, and well done," the boy said as he gasped for breath. "A barrier to keep inimical magic from getting out, as such, it might be too risky for us to try to get through it. I recommend we-- Hey!"  
  
Fenris attuned more deeply to his markings, phasing himself into that half-state between the physical world and the Fade, the state that enabled him to temporarily side-step the laws of the material world and of magic for a time. The twisting knotwork net of the spell, which would ordinarily have been strong enough to bar anything and everything from crossing it, felt no more substantial than cobwebs to him as he stepped across the barrier into the cave.   
  
"Is she there, Fenris?" Hawke called in, clearly being barred from the cave by the spell.   
  
The elf stepped around the barrier wall and peered into the central cavern. The sight that greeted him was... memorable. The place was lit up with a brilliant white light edged with rainbow iridescence. Star-motes of power, trailing smears of aurora-fire behind them, floated in the air, weaving themselves in intricate knotwork patterns around and within a set of complex arcane characters written in lightning-bright light in the air. At the center of it all stood Merrill, a fiery aura of emerald blazed out from her skin as she held the gaze of a demon.  
  
 _: **Such** a demon!:_ Fenris thought in amazement.  
  
It's body was thicker than a vehendhal tree that stood in the center of the alienage and it glowed a fiery orange yellow like the river of fire at the depths of the deep roads. This was no puny desire demon, content to snack on the common every day lusts of mortals, no sloth demon without will or driving ambition that attracted more of the same. It was higher-level and there was absolutely no mistaking it. It radiated power the same way a fire gave off light and heat. The force of its power was a crushing weight, as suffocating and relentless as the noon sun in the desert, as weighty as the root of a mountain. The demon towered over her, its pitiless gaze that of a hunter with a mouse under its paws, but Fenris got the feeling it was restrained. Though it blazed with unholy power, it struggled, growling and snapping like a mabari hound at the end of its chain in the presence of an enemy. Merrill stared upwards at it, defiant and firm, and stood her ground. Fenris knew instinctively that it was a contest of wills, they were locked in struggle against one another neither able to look away or move for the first one to break the gaze acknowledged defeat.  
  
"Fenris," Hawke called again.   
  
"She's here," Fenris replied, softening his voice for fear of breaking her concentration. "And so is the demon."  
  
"What does it look like?" Anders asked.  
  
"It doesn't matter, I can tell you precisely what it is," the elven mage interrupted and told the tale of a demon of immense and ancient power, one that he had heard of before. Fenris added his own knowledge of the subject, then went on to describe what was going on. To which the boy replied  
  
"I've never heard of such a spell, is it some kind of Shemlen spell?"  
  
"I've not seen such," Fenris replied.   
  
"How long has she been fighting it?" Hawke questioned.  
  
Fenris looked more closely at Merrill, past the lines of the spell. Her muscles were shaking and she was covered in a fine sheen of sweat as though fevered.   
  
"My guess would be since yesterday," Fenris replied.  
  
"Not good," the boy replied, a bit unnecessarily. "No matter how powerful the mage is, unlike a demon, that mage would be subject to physical limitations."  
  
"She has to eat sometime," hawke agreed.  
  
"Yes," the boy agreed. "It's just going to wait her out. She may have a will to match it, but even if she does, her body can't hold out forever."  
  
"Fenris," hawke called over to him. "It seems you can phase through magical barriers, see what you can't do about encouraging that demon to shake a leg, hm?"  
  
"Already on it," Fenris said, pulling out his greatsword and crossing the room.  
  
He attuned to his markings again, this close to Merrill it seemed as though the markings on his skin and his ability to access and utilize them was somehow greater than it usually was. His ability to attune himself to his markings never came outside of the heat of battle, but here he had done so almost without consciously thinking of it and it was as easy for him as shrugging on a coat.  
  
 _:Another anomaly we shall discuss when this is all over with,:_ he promised himself. He couldn't shake the feeling that she was somehow at th ehart of all the recent anomalies lately.  
  
He walked over to the barrier, expecting to cross it as easily as he had the other, but found that he was repelled. He pushed a hand against it and the light flared a little, as if in warning, and when he added a little more strength to the push, the spell pushed back. He saw Merrill twitch and the demon leaned forward eagerly, appearing thrilled at the possibility of outward assistance. The green aura surrounding Merrill flared with emerald fire for a moment and the demon struggled but still could not look away. Merrill's face hardened in concentration.  
  
 _:Right. I see. No distractions or the demon eats her.:_   
  
That was when the stone floor of the cave around him began to warp. His lyrium markings throbbed in warning of dark magic, and long, tiresome experience informed him that nasty things were about to come crawling out from the ground. Sure enough, a moment later, rotted skeletal remains clamored up from their ancient graves and tottered on unsteady (some of them missing) limbs. Their hollow dead gazes staring hungrily at him.  
  
 _:Wights. Why is it always wights?:_ he thought with a sigh.  
  
If he couldn't take down a demon, he supposed he'd settle for some undead.  
  
"Hang on Fenris!" Hawke called. "Anders and the kid have nearly unlocked the barrier."  
  
"I _may_ be generous and save some for you," he called back, wading into the shrieking horde and laying about with his greatsword.   
  
It was a good way to work off frustration, he was still feeling restless and irritable from the night previous, and he had the nagging suspicion that the quality of his dreams may have been an echo of Merrill's little epic struggle with the demon, if so, then he owed her a sleepless night or two. Perhaps he'd have the drunken bard at the Hanged Man stay out all night under her windowsill and sing every song he knew off key. That would serve her.  
  
 _:Not good enough,:_ he decided as he cracked another skull. _:It's too nice.:_  
  
Well he'd think of something. He mulled it over with half of his thoughts while he reaped the undead horde in droves, battle-lust singing through his veins echoed by the throbbing buzz of lyrium pulsing in his skin. Bones shattered to powder at the blunt edge of his blade sweeping the hideous creations of demon magic back to the void where they belonged. he kept one eye on the demon in the center of the room and felt a small spike of primal satisfaction at the sight of Merrill's green fire blazing up a little stronger and the demon-fire aura dimming ever so slightly. The sight galvanized him into crushing greater numbers of his foes, the thought that maybe she could draw the strength she needed to finally crush the demons will with her own if she sensed that she was not fighting alone crossed his mind. After all, he had fought alone for so very long, but he found that he was stronger and could access even more of his strange power when he had comrades beside him in battle. It would perhaps be the same for the witch.  
  
"Venhedis, you're a lot of trouble!" he growled at the unresponsive form locked in a battle of her own across the cave.  
  
The barrier spell across the door of the cave gave way and Hawke rushed into battle beside him, helping him to herd the darklings into a mob at the center. The elf-boy rained down bolt after sizzling bolt of lightning on the mob accompanied by the occasional crushing volley of stones while Anders kept everyone's injuries healed up and Sebastion easily picked off the long-range stragglers at the edges before they could catch anyone with any of their arrows. The wave of skeletons soon receded to a manageable trickle and Fenris judged they had the battle in the bag... but then the demon _howled_ , a shrieking chilling sound that made every hair on Fenris' body stand on end.   
  
_:And thus, there are more of them...:_ he grumbled to himself at the sight of them popping up out of the ground like daisies in springtime.   
  
Their numbers came exponentially, flooding the area in a writhing mass of clacking bones and tattered armor. The two mages had their backs to the spell array, like a last line of defense while Fenris kept their bonerotted attention on him. With his lyrium markings surging with a strange, uncanny strength, he shrugged off what would normally have been distracting, if not debilitating, blows as though they were nothing more harmful than raindrops. Hawke took advantage of the distraction Fenris provided to duck and weave in and out of the battlefield, taking down enemies with pinpoint accuracy. Sebastion kept the sideliners busy. With the added magical kick provided by the surprisingly efficient (though in Fenris' opinion not nearly as powerful and experienced) young elvhen mage, they were keeping things under control.   
  
_:Which only means that things are going to go badly, quickly,:_ he thought to himself.   
  
The demon in a face-off with Merrill, did not disappoint. It let out another one of its stone-quivering howls, and it felt like the very bones of the mountain shivered in response. The ground opened up and out of the stone rose a huge, terrible _thing_ that Fenris has seen the likes of only one time.   
  
His old master, Danarius, had once worked with a Circle of blood mages to bring about a ghastly creation so terrible that they had not even had a name for it. The lives of three hundred slaves had been sacrificed to create it, and when it had been completed it had been so hideous and so powerful that not even the magisters had wanted anything to do with it. Flesh and blood and bone had merged in sickening ways, the stench of rot and dark decay had surrounded it in a cloud causing even the hardiest blood mage to retch it revulsion. The creature before them was an ancient bones equivalent to that thing. A construction of the bodies of fallen wights, fleshed in the tattered remains of their rotten corpses and powered by dark sorcery.  
  
"Creators preserve us!" the boy-mage gasped. "What... what _is_ that thing?"  
  
"A creature so base and terrible that it has no name," Fenris replied.   
  
"And jes' what would that be sayin' about that thing tha's in there with our Merrill that it calls that creature up like a noble summons a servant?" Sebastion remarked.   
  
"There's always a bigger fish, or in this case, soul-sucking corpse-eater from the furthest reaches of the Void," Anders said lightly. "And as for what it says about the demon in there with Merrill that it can summon up this thing for it's lackey, I'll _tell_ you what it means, it means we'd better hope that demon she faces doesn't get loose."  
  
"Well the lackey's out here with us," Sebastion pointed out. "In comparison to what we've faced so far together brothers, about how powerful would you say that this lackey is?"  
  
"Put it this way," Hawke said. "On a scale of 'mildly worrisome' to 'stomach-clenching terror' it looks like it's a 'run away screaming in horror to catch the nearest ship as far away from it as you can get.'"   
  
"Indeed," Fenris concurred as the thing continued to rise slowly, piecing itself together as it went along. "It is a thing so horrifyingly depraved that not even the magisters of the Tevinter Imperium would unleash it upon their worst enemies, for fear of what it would become when it was through with them and went searching for more prey."  
  
"And for Fenris to say 'not even the magisters,' you know it's bad," Hawke commented.   
  
"It consumes the strength of its fallen enemies, growing ever more powerful the more that death surrounds it," he explained. "If it is unleashed, there is no telling how strong it could become or what it might take to stop it."  
  
"Andraste's light guide us," Sebastion said, making the sign of the light over himself.  
  
"Oh, more prayers... that's useful," Anders snarked by reflex.  
  
"I don't suppose you'd know any way to defeat it then?" Hawke said hopefully to Fenris, who had been so knowledgeable thus far.  
  
"I was present when the magisters created their version of it," Fenris replied. "It was not defeated, so much as they pulled back mid-spell and deconstructed thier work, banishing the magic that powered it back into the Fade."  
  
"So that's a no..." Anders said.   
  
"The only one who can get rid of it, is the one who summoned it," Fenris added.   
  
"The demon summoned it," Dermayan pointed out. "And we can't reach the demon past the barrier spell."  
  
"Then we'll just have to rely on Merrill to defeat the demon," Hawke said. "Once she breaks its power, this shagnasty will be destroyed. In the meantime, we'll have to keep it busy so that it doesn't tromp down the mountain and eat all the elves at the bottom as an appetizer before starting on Kirkwall for a main course."  
  
"Way to leave the fun part to us," Fenris muttered at the unresponsive mage trying to face down a demon. He knew full well that the damnable thing couldn't actually be defeated, the only thing that they were going to do was keep it occupied by flinging themselves at it. Fenris hefted his sword, let the fun begin.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My FAVORITE chapter!

Merrill didn't know for certain how long she had been locked in struggle with the creature. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, it felt like years. Her body shook, muscles locked to tamp down on the cold pain that burned like _fire_ as the magic of the spell flowed through her channels in an endless stream. She was the gatekeeper to the spell but she couldn't use the magic of the spell of boost her struggle, the sole power she had to take down the demon was her _will_ alone, but the power flowing through her channels nonetheless and it took its toll. She couldn't think about how long her physical body could last before it gave way, couldn't think about how fearful and mighty the demon's presence was, she couldn't think _at all_. The only thing she could do was fight with every last fiber of her being. Push against its power, stand against its might and not take one single step back.   
  
In that half-world of will, she was the gatekeeper, she stood on the bridge between worlds and none would pass save through her. There was no retreat, no surrender.  
  
The demon, even cut off from its place of power in the Beyond, was _still_ a mighty being to contend with. However she sensed that, being an immortal thing outside the grip of time, urgency was something of a lost concept to it. In that Merrill had the advantage; her will was honed to razor sharpness because, as a creature of time, there was a finite amount of time in which she could get things done. She was accustomed to dealing with matters immediately and finally. But her own mortality and physical presence was also a weakness, for she knew that the creature's strategy was to merely out-wait her. Merrill was resolved that this would not happen. She pushed with her will, increasing the pressure on it, and it pushed back, but every time it did it lost a little ground, perhaps a centimeter, perhaps an inch, but it was unprepared to deal with the immediacy of its surroundings and Merrill was slowly gaining ground, battle by battle.

The spell gave a little jerk of surprise that resonated through her channels suddenly. Merrill's attention was almost pulled away from her task but she managed to maintain her focus and to not loose any of the ground she had thusfar gained. Someone had just tried to interfere with the barrier spell!  
  
 _:Fenris?:_ she wondered, twitching as she sensed his nearness.   
  
She was almost distracted by it, and the demon surged suddenly, thinking to regain the ground it had lost steadily throughout their struggle, but Merrill's attention was locked on it, and would not be swayed. She hardened her will, pushing, _pushing_. She felt the raging torrent of the demon's magic push back, and she met it, steadily, refusing to give way. She gained a tiny bit of ground.   
  
She pushed more, and to her surprise, the demon's power slackened for a moment and Merrill's will surged forward. She pressed in harder, thinking she might have finally broken its will but knew deep down that this battle would not be that easy. Indeed, the demon let out a stone-shaking howl that seemed to resonate with the bones of the mountain beneath them. Merrill sensed rather than saw the restless crawlings of the earth. She dared not turn her attention away, but she _knew_ what it had done. It had spent a tiny moment of magic to send out a magical call that would bring out any interested inimical parties to curry favor with the demon by coming to its aid, or at least creatures that would like to rip apart any living thing nearby. Merrill was safe inside the barrier (if one could call being locked in a combat of wills with a demon being _safe_ ) for nothing could cross it, but Fenris and whoever else might be with him were exposed prey to whatever dark terror lurked hidden deep in the stones of this ancient battle site. She could not spare the attention and energy to so much as glance to see how many dark creatures the demon's call had summoned or how badly he was outnumbered. Her only enemy was before her.   
  
She could sense what the demon was feeling through their magical connection. It thought that the ground she had gained would be shortly recovered because Merrill would be inevitably distracted by the plight of her friends. It thought that this was the inevitable weakness of all creatures of the physical world, that they developed bonds and feelings for each other, and that those emotions were nothing more than weaknesses for the demon to exploit.   
  
_:You know nothing of such things, creature,:_ she thought at it, pushing her own will more firmly against the current of its will, a little of her own anger giving her a bit of extra strength. _:Do not pretend that you do. You think me weak for the bonds I share? I will show you their true strength!:_  
  
She could sense the battle against the undead horde raging about her, and in the back corner of her mind where the bond lay latent, she could feel Fenris's bloodlust and the heady delight of battle reverberating through the latent bond between them. In turn it fed _her_ strength, bolstering her, and she shared in the joy of making their enemies fall before them. The demon would join them.  
  
Merrill sensed the disconcertion the demon felt as it sensed that instead of weakening her resolve by distracting her, his ploy had actually made her stronger and he was loosing ground steadily to a concentrated onslaught of her will encouraged Fenris' victories. It struggled desperately to recoup the ground it had lost, ground it had thought it would regain when the mortal was distracted by the fates of her friends. Despite her rising victories, the demon was still very powerful and she could feel its power as it surged back against her will, the sudden spike in pressure making her retrench for a moment. Fortunately the ground she gave was minimal. The struggle between them resumed with renewed vigor, both sides feeling an urgency. The demon was worried about the cost that summoning its momentary distraction might have extracted without the boon that it had expected in exchange. Merrill was worried about her friends outside the array, fighting without her magic to help them, and her own weakening physical strength. They both pressed in, bending the brunt of their wills upon the other like two king stags locking horns. The air was heavy and charged with the side effect of their auras clashing like two streams of fire meeting.   
  
_:I will not fail here, creature. For my Clan, for my friends, for my future... I will not give way!:_ she swore, pushing harder than she had ever even dreamed she might.  
  
The demon... _weakened_. It did not waver, not enough for her to rush forward and claim her victory, but she gained another inch with a sudden feeling that as long as she held up, more would follow. She could sense the panic and desperation in the demon before her, the sudden creeping realization that in this gateway world, it was no longer a creature outside of time; that there was a _finality_ here that it had never faced before. Panic flooded it, giving it desperate strength as it knew that unless it managed to change the field, it might be defeated here. She felt its decision snap within it. It would take one last, desperate gamble. It gathered its reserves of magic and _howled_.   
  
_:It's power cannot reach outside of the gateway world...:_ Merrill thought in puzzlement, wondering what it thought it might possibly accomplish by wasting its reserves reaching out when it could use them to press back against her.   
  
A moment later the realization hit her. The demon did not need to reach outside, it was already _there_. Over the course of century upon century, trapped in a seal that kept it from its main source of power in the Beyond, but also sealed away from the physical world in a half-existence, the demon had been able to, imbue some of its magical essence into the very stone of the place. It had sunk it in _deep_ , out of the range of detection of most ordinary magic, waiting for the day it would be needed and tainting everything that lay beneath the surface like a cantankerous infection. And now, its voice would wake up the power it had stored. It might not be under the direct command of the demon, but the demon _didn't_ _need_ it to be. It could be a separate entity and still be useful to the demon's purposes, the result would be as close as a demon would ever get to producing a child, and all it needed to do was _destroy_.  
  
 _:Fenris!:_ Merrill thought, a cold spike of fear almost, but not quite distracting her.

The demon gloated. It likely thought that it was only a matter of time before the mortal creature gave way to her own petty emotions. Only a matter of time before she was distracted, and with that would come her downfall.  
  
 _:No! I will not fail here!:_ she thought, her own feeling edged with desperation.  
  
Her friends were counting on her. If she lost here, she lost _everything_. Her friends would be hurt, and Merrill would never have the chance to make it right with her Keeper. She'd never get the chance to show her people that she truly loved them, she'd never get the chance to show Fenris that she could be an amazing mage _and_ a good person without the blood magic. She would never again be flirted outrageously with by Hawke or teased by Isabella. Never again hear another one of Varric's amazing stories, the one's that always started with "no shit, there I was" or hear Sebastion go on and on about his precious Maker Cult. Never again hear Anders bicker with Fenris about the fate of the mages. Never get to show that grouchy mage-hater that her kind weren't so bad after all, especially now that he didn't have the excuse of blood magic to hide behind in order to end an argument. (It was one thing she really couldn't argue back against it very well, with all that evidence piled up against her and her own rather flimsy protest that it was okay if used responsibly).  
  
"Merrill! If you can hear us," Hawke called. "Give that slimy tree-trunk the heave-ho already! This thing out here's a big shagnasty and unless you defeat that demon, we're going to get pulped by its bouncing baby bundle of horrors."  
  
Merrill clamped down on her will as the demon used Merrill's almost-distraction to surge forward, beating her will back before she regained her metaphorical footing and held her ground against it.  
  
She felt her friends join the battle around the baby demonic taint-spawn. Sensed Anders' magic flash and tug in the currents around her joined by the power signature of another mage she didn't recognize. She sensed the movements of Fenris, half in and half out of reality, flash around the battlefield, laying about with traumatic force at anything that looked like it might be a weakness. She sensed Sebastion holding fast, praying to his divine ones as he loosed arrow after arrow at the ghastly horror. She sensed it when the creature joined the fight in earnest, a single swing of its massive limb smacking Hawke into a wall. It called down dark fire from the abyss and Merrill heard her dear friends scream in pain. She felt the barest echo of that pain resonate through their latent bond and Merrill's heart squeezed in response. Her friends were out there, in trouble, they _needed_ her!  
  
But she could not afford to waste her energy on sensing her friends battle.  
  
 _:And now it suddenly makes sense,:_ Merrill thought in sorrowful resolve. _:The words that Keeper Marethari once told me.:_  
  
She had said that sometimes a Keeper's path may lie in betrayal. She had meant that as Keeper of the Ancient Lore of the Elvhen, there might come a time when her life would be counted more valuable than the lives of the Clan she protected and that she would have to accept their sacrifices on her behalf. Merrill had never been able to imagine such a thing, she had always thought that as Keeper and as a mage she would always be strong enough, powerful enough, to protect her people and thus no sacrifices on her behalf would ever be necessary. Now she understood the words. It was her _duty_ , to stand here. In order to protect her people she could not turn aside from her path, not even to aid her friends when they needed her. She must turn away from their struggle, ignore them if they cried to her for help.   
  
**_"Think about this child,"_**   the demon spoke to her, shifting its form down to the small, rather harmless-looking appearance it had first used when she approached it to find out if it knew anything about how to heal an eluvian.  
  
 ** _"Really think about all you're giving up. You've spent three years of your life on this. It's an ancient artifact of immense magical power, one that could give you the secrets to the ways of the ancients, restore everything that was lost and lift your people up from poverty and degradation to reclaim their rightful place. You could stop their suffering, Merrill, you could. You would be their hero, their champion... their queen."_**  
  
Merrill ignored the words, despite the fact that a small unworthy part of her thrilled at the idea of being the queen of the Elvhen Nation. She pressed forward. The demon was talking to her, the move to negotiation meant that it was getting desperate enough to try to find a weakness, any weakness. That meant that she was stronger than it.  
  
 ** _"The people would welcome you home with open arms..."_** the demon changed it's form and suddenly her Keeper was standing before her.  
  
"Come home, da'len. We'll help all the clan's together. All you need to do is--"  
  
"Rah!" Merrill snapped a bolt of raw anger at the demon for it's sheer temerity in trying impersonate her teacher and mother-figure causing her to make a sudden leap in their contest of wills, and gained ground. It quickly rethought its strategy and shifted back to its "harmless Spirit" form.  
  
 ** _"Those shemlen out there?"_** it said. ** _"They don't care about your people, not the way you do. What do they matter? And the Tevinter... well. When has he ever not insulted you? Treated you like garbage he's too good to pick up? They'll never understand you, never truly see that everything you do, you do for love of your people. That ignorant slave doesn't understand that you fight for him as well. He scorns you for it."_**  
  
Merrill's temper flared the instant that the demon brought Fenris into the argument. How dare it! Apparently the quasi-empathy of the gate-spell that let her sense its thoughts through the magical link that bound them to thier contest of wills worked both ways for the demon caught the source of her distemper.  
  
 ** _"Oh... oh my,"_** the demon said, scenting weakness the same way a shark scented blood in the water. ** _"Touched a nerve, did I? I could help you, you know. I could help you make him see some of your more..._** _attractive_ ** _qualities. A little help from me, and he'd be at your feet."_**  
  
In reply to _that_ particular insult, Merrill pressed her will in harder, gaining ground faster. She felt a tiny part of it give way and the demon threw everything it had into a last-ditch offensive.   
  
Suddenly Fenris was before her, reaching out to her with one clawed gauntlet, a strange sort of vulnerability in his face instead of the hardened, cynical mask he always wore. For a moment, the sight of him standing before her looking as strong and handsome as ever, and yet with a certain appealing openness in his gaze nearly undid her and she _almost_ wavered. Merrill steeled herself, hardening her heart, for the demon spoke to her in _his_ voice... which, even when she disliked him the most, always made her feel a bit weak around the knees.   
  
"I understand, Merrill," he said softly. "I know you want to help everyone, even me. I will help you. Once we have the power of the mirror, there's nothing we couldn't do... together. We could take down the whole Tevinter Imperium, break the backs of the magisters and free our people. Just take my hand."  
  
What the demon did not know was that it had just made its final mistake. Whether she liked it or not, Merrill was soulbonded (however latently) to Fenris. No matter how exact the likeness, or how compelling the lie, Merrill would always know the truth about her bondmate. The offer the demon made was tempting (or would have been if she didn't know it for a lie), it offered her both his acceptance of all that she was, _and_ her dream of making the world a better place for her people, particularly the ones that were still held in chains like Fenris had once been. She might have been tempted by the false Fenris, might have been tricked by him despite herself for he looked and sounded just like the real Fenris, but...  
  
"First of all," Merrill addressed the demon for the first time. "Fenris never calls me by my name. Secondly... your time here is _over_."  
  
Merrill gathered every last bit of her will, draining off even some of the life-force of her body and focused it into a single blazing point at the end of her staff. Merrill thrust forward, shoving against the tide of the demon's will with all of her might and raised her staff, bringing it down, hard, over the head of the not-Fenris. The demon gave a roar of pain and Merrill moved forward with her will armoring her against the force of the demon's spiritual pressure. Her own will surged forwards as the last of the demons will crumbled and its defenses were overrun, overtaking the power of the Spirit and capturing it within the metaphrical palm of her hand.  
  
"Submit!" she commanded.   
  
The demon struggled, flaring back at her with the last of its strength in a swamping wave that nearly knocked her back. She stood her ground, gritting her teeth and pressed in forcing it to look at her. Fenris's face looked up at her, but with a demon's alien, coruscating-colored eyes.

"Wait!" it pleaded in Fenris' voice, which just made her more angry with it, and more determined to put the perversion in its place.  
  
Merrill brought the tip of her staff up and wrote the final character of the spell, the glyph of sealing, into the air before her in thick, firm strokes of light, naming each stroke as she went.  
  
"Rahn! Jin! Shen! Byoh! Sou! Rai! Ki!" she shouted, a tempest kicking up around them, riffling her clothes and hair in a whirl of furious white light. The spells flared up around her in response and the air warped and shifted.  
  
"Creature of evil, obey my sovereign command!"  
  
"No! Merrill! What are you doing?" the creature demanded in Fenris' voice with Fenris body, it's eyes looking at her pleadingly out of _his_ face. If she were less than she was, Merrill would have wavered. The sight of a friend looking pleadingly at her, begging her to stop, would have been enough to shake her resolve.   
  
"For in this kingdom, my will is as strong as yours, and my power as great!" she continued.  
  
"Please, stop."   
  
"You hold no sway here, creature and you shall not pass!"  
  
"Please."  
  
Her heart twisted at that voice, breaking into a piteous sob, but her resolve did not waver because she could feel the _real_ Fenris in the back of her mind, battling against that demon-spawn _thing_ and pissed off about the way things were going. He was familiar her habitual soft-heartedness, her naivete, and the elf felt she was going to relinquish the field in the face of her own sympathy because she would be unable to harm the form of someone she saw as a friend, even if she knew it wasn't who it seemed.   
  
_:And if I could not feel him there with me, he might be right,:_ she admitted to herself. _:But this is the way to protect what is **mine** to protect.:_  
  
"Bow down," she commanded, pressing the tip of her staff at the top of its head.  
  
The demon wearing Fenris's shape slowly sank to its knees, like a slave. It's eyes shifted to green to match Fenris' eyes and it pleaded with her once again to let him free, to help him, and how could she do this to him? Didn't she know she was hurting him? Angry that it attempted to manipulate her even now, Merrill lashed it with her power and forced it to change back to its true form, the staff sending a pulse of magic through it that made its flesh ripple and crawl until the amorphous, horned, many-limbed creature knelt before her.  
  
"Wait, if you destroy me here, all hope of healing the mirror and regaining what was lost will be gone!"  
  
"I said..." Merrill replied with grim calm, pressing the top of its forehead all the way down to the floor as though the creature were begging forgiveness.   
  
"... _Bow_!"  
  
Lightning struck in the center of the room when she brought her staff downward, grounding the very last part of the spell. A flash washed everything brilliant, blinding white. Wind scented of rain and sunshine kicked up all around her as dancing floating motes of power flew about like leaves in a hurricane. A pulse of pure magic rippled outward, purification like a hot wind washing through everything, scouring it clean of all taint and darkness. The surface of the mirror warped and twisted, images flashing across its surface in a flicker, and then, like rainwater falling up, white star-motes of power crawled out of the frame, joining the motes of power already whirling about the spell, and they scattered like blossom petals on a breezy day in spring. As quickly as the ending rush came, it left, taking all of its power with it. The gateway dimension folded up in on itself and dispersed in a tiny, spark-like fizzle of light.   
  
"Well," Merrill said, as all strength drained from her like water being poured from a pitcher. "That was exciting wasn't it?"  
  
She promptly fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is, the chapter I pretty much wrote the whole fic for. If you reveiw any chapter let it be this one, I'd really like to hear your thoughts on it, even if its just "go Merrill, awesome curbstomping!" I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it but don't worry, there's still more fic to come.


	16. Chapter 16

It took a few seconds for Fenris to blink the day-stars out of his eyes and for the ringing in his ears to fade. One of these days he was going to have a talk with that witch about her flashy magic. That last bit had knocked him clear off his feet again, and his lyrium markings were throbbing once more.  
  
 _:The demon is nowhere to be seen, so that's good,:_ he quickly took stock. _:And its void-spawned progeny seems to have joined it wherever it went, if it went anywhere and wasn't just scoured clean out of existence. If I'd known she was this good at banishing dark magic, I'd have dragged her back to her teacher by the hair and forced her to reform much earlier.:_  
  
Speaking of reformed witches...  
  
Fenris saw the slight form of the witch in question lying still on the floor of the circle where she'd battled the demon. He struggled to his feet, momentarily alarmed, but Anders was already closer to her. In a few short paces he was at her side, pushing her onto her back and checking her vitals.   
  
"How is she?" Hawke called over, his voice rough from being thrown across the room at the end of the spell, the same as Fenris had been.  
  
"She's alive, just unconscious," Anders reported back. "Breathing, temperature and heartrate all fine, no sign of physical trauma and a basic scan seems to show all of her magical facilities in good working order. She's just shut down from exhaustion is all."  
  
"And the rest of you lot, check in," Hawke said.  
  
"Hawke," Fenris grunted to signal he was alive.  
  
"I'm here, and I think I swallowed a tooth," the boy-mage said.  
  
"At the risk of sounding blasphemous, I honestly can't tell whether it was my armor or the grace of Andraste that protected me this time," Sebastion said from the corner of the cave he'd been blown back into.  
  
There were the sounds of the various members of their party straggling to their feet.  
  
"Mythal's mercy!" the young mage said. "Wait till I tell my Clan we faced down a full fledged Greater Spirit and its... its... horror from the back of Beyond! This is one for the clan lore, that's for certain."  
  
"Ooooh... my head," Merrill moaned from where she lay. "Marethari? Is that you?"  
  
"I'm afraid not Merrill," Anders said with a fond look at her. "You'll have to settle for me, though I flatter myself to say that I am better looking."  
  
"Good goin' short stuff!" Hawke called an ebullient cheer from where he stood. "You took up that demon and made it your bitch!"  
  
Fenris stomped over to her, scowl in place, lyrium markings in a burning throb on his skin and everything about his manner saying that he was very much _Not Amused._  
  
"Woman!" he barked at her. "In the last two days I've raced from Kirkwall up the Sundermount to help you with your foolishness. I've been knocked about by your magic, faced down a shrieking horde of unquiet dead, then to be pummeled like bread dough by some unspeakable creation of dark magic, all so that you could summon some unholy demon from the depths of the Void to engage it in some magic-bound stand-off!"  
  
Merrill blinked at him from where she sat leaned against Anders exhaustedly, her head craning back to look at him from where he thundered down from on high. He didn't kneel of course, but he did bring his head closer to her level, crouched down like tiger ready to pounce. It wasn't a smile (he only did that when he was drunk) but he allowed his expression to convey his approval for a battle well-fought and won.  
  
"Well done," he said.  
  
Merrill stared as did Anders. A moment later she called over to the young boy-mage.  
  
"Dermayan, you must alert my Keeper and have her gather the Clans for an Arlethvenn," she said in a slightly quavering voice that conveyed how weak she was.  
  
"Was this demon really that powerful?" Dermayan asked, wide-eyed.

Fenris started to suspect that her oddities might actually be hereditary.  
  
"I just heard two words of unmitigated praise from Fenris," she replied humorously. "I want it recorded in the collective sagas of our people. Sebastion, alert your chantry as well, they will want to put this one on their calendar!"  
  
Fenris frowned at her for her levity while Hawke and Anders enjoyed a chuckle at his expense.  
  
"Andrate smiles on us this day my friends," Sebastion said cheerfully. "A powerful demon was completely erased, never to harry another living soul again. Truly a day worth remembering."  
  
Merrill tried to rise to her feet and found she was too weak from her magical battle to do so. She leaned back on Anders again and Fenris found himself feeling a little piqued by that.  
  
"Nope," Anders said firmly to his new patient, restraining her with a light hand. "No you don't. No walking for you. You're still too weak from your ordeal. One of us can carry you down the mountainside."  
  
Anders scooped her up easily before anyone else could say anything. Fenris felt a pang of irritation at the mage's high-handedness in just picking her up as he pleased, followed by another pang of irritation as the little mage didn't argue with him about it like she had with Fenris when he'd carried her home.   
  
_:Of course, that could be because she's alseep,:_ he reassessed a moment later. Her head was leaned against the tall human's chest and she was out like a candle.   
  
"I know I speak for everyone here when I say, let's get out of this Maker forsaken hole," Hawke said.  
  
"Motion seconded," Sebastion chimed in.  
  
"Motion approved," Fenris finished.   
  
He and the rest of the group formed in around Anders and his burden as a guard down the side of the mountain. Fortune truly was smiling on them after their battle (or maybe the prior skirmishes had warned off all the rest of them) for there was no trouble on their way back to camp. When they arrived it was to a find hunters of both camps armed up and armored, positioned to meet trouble, while the non-fighters and children hung back.   
  
"It's alright," Hawke called. "The demon is destroyed and we can all go back to our weird little wheeled elven homes, there's nothing more to see."  
  
"Da'lenn?" Keeper Marethari called over, pushing through the crowd, hope and terror warring on her face.  
  
"She's just asleep," Anders said with gentle reassurance. "She's had a hard fight, for that demon didn't give over easily, but with a little rest she'll be fine."  
  
"Praise be to Mythal!" another elven woman with the same delicate features as Merrill said, then promptly turned to the man next to her and burst into tears.  
  
"Now there, ma vhenan," the man comforted the crying woman. "I told you our girl was too strong and stubborn to be defeated by any demon."  
  
"It wouldn't have been necessary for her to face it at all if she hadn't gone haring off with that shem-lover Mahariel and gotten fool notions about mirrors in her head," a young man on the other side of the elder man growled. Judging by the look of him, he might possibly be one of Merrill's kin, another brother perhaps.  
  
"Have a care how you speak of our kinsman, he's a Grey Warden, a position that should be respected even if he _does_ consort with Shems," one other elf said. "That fool girl made her own mind up, without any help from Mahariel. She's the one who chose to hold court with demons over that mirror."  
  
"Which she wouldn't have even found if--"  
  
"That will be quite enough," Marethari checked them firmly. "The argument is now moot. The mirror is destroyed, the demon has been vanquished, and Merrill is now home safe with us where she belongs. I for one think that this occasion calls for a celebration instead. Let there be drink and frolicking instead."  
  
"That's more like it," Hawke muttered.  
  
Marethari showed Anders over to one of the round, felt-walled tents that folded out of their Aravells to deposit his burden. Fenris watched as instruments were brought out and young elves began to dance, while others gathered foodstuffs and began to prepare them. Fenris himself, not convivial with large numbers of strangers at the best of times, found a bottle of elvhen wine and settled around a small fire out of the way. Hunters crowded round Dermayan to hear the tale. A few daring souls tried to approach him, but a scowl in their direction sent them off quite well. Hawke turned them towards himself with his usual ease, though there were a notable number of snubs on account of his being a human.  
  
 _:Nice to see that racism is alive and healthy here in Elven Paradise,:_ Fenris thought cynically, rolling his eyes.  
  
He had not been entirely honest with Merrill when he'd answered her question about the Elvhen slaves in Tevinter and their feelings on the Dalish. It wasn't so much that the enslaved Elves didn't care about the Dalish, it was that their feelings and reactions were mixed. A large number intensely disliked the Dalish, were jealous of their freedom and felt that if they were truly serious about preserving their people, they should stop frolicking uselessly in the woods and telling stories to children around the campfire, and _do_ something. The other elves turned the Dalish into virtual saints who floated across the lands in their magical landships, dispensing wisdom and raising their people to goodness and liberty... and they all had castles on the moon stocked with all the best foods to eat. In other words, stories to tell slave-children to make them contented with their miserable lot.  
  
 _:I wonder if whoever raised me ever told me any of those Dalish Tales,:_ he thought idly, admiring the way the firelight shone through the bottle of wine. _:Maker, I hope not.:_  
  
It didn't take long for the party get in full swing around him, though Fenris kept himself apart from it by habit and inclination. He might be an elf, but these Dalish were not _his_ people. Their laughter and merry-making only served to exacerbate his dislike for them. While they danced and sang and had their fun, others of their kind whom they claimed to care about so much suffered cruelty at the hands of those who had power over them. So far as Fenris was concerned, whatever they said about "preserving the heritage of their people" they were just cowards, too afraid to step up and try to make a difference.  
  
Before his thoughts could turn any further down their usual bitter path, he was joined by another elf, a medium -sized man with the hands of a craftsman, dark hair and gentle eyes.  
  
"I understand you're one of the ones who went into the cave to help my Merrill. My son tells me you fought bravely and well. You have my deepest gratitude. Ma seranas."  
  
"And you are?" Fenris inquired coolly, ignoring the strange feeling he got at the rarity of someone personally thanking him. Usually he let Hawke handle that sort of thing, he was better at it, better with people.  
  
"Elric of Alerion Clan. Merrill is my daughter. My only daughter in fact. My wife keeps giving me sons, not that there's anything wrong with sons. I love each of my boys and am proud of them, but they don't take doting very well."  
  
"I was under the understanding that Merrill belongs to Sabrae Clan," Fenris replied. "Ah, but that's right, your Clan had a bumper crop of mages that year so you all sold her off to Sabrae."  
  
"There was no selling, lad," the man said, a bit sharply. "That is the way it is in the Clans, we all work together to support each other and preserve the Elvhen way of life. To go and train under Keeper Marethari of Sabrae Clan and fill a need for a mage, as well as to preserve the lore and history for this Clan, is Merrill's duty, just as letting her go was ours."  
  
Fenris snorted.  
  
"And what will Sabrae Clan do now that their successor has been known to dabble in blood magic?" he inquired a bit cynically. "Just sweep it under the rug, I suppose?"  
  
"Oh no, that's a serious crime and no mistake of it. But... she's taken responsibility for her actions and proven herself willing to mend her ways," the man said, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself rather than Fenris.   
  
"So a slap on the wrists and everything's fine then."  
  
"Keeper Marethari will speak on her behalf at the convocation, I am sure."  
  
"Convocation?" Fenris asked.  
  
"Why yes, we're only the first clan to show up, mainly because we were already on our way here," Elric said. "My wife prevailed upon our Keeper to come and visit Sabrae Clan, camped at the foot of the Sundermount, with the intention of finding Merrill in that awful shem-hole across the coast and talk her out of her foolishness with that mirror. But even if certain forms of what is now called blood magic has historically been accepted as a valid form of magic according to ancient texts, she still defied her Clan and Keeper's will to make a deal with a spirit of the Beyond. She will be called to answer for that, if nothing else."  
  
"Is it a crime among the Dalish?" he asked curiously.  
  
He would have thought it would be, consorting with demons should be a universal no-no.  
  
"Yes and no," Elric replied with a so-so gesture. "It's well known that not all Spirits in the Beyond are inimical, though most of the ones who will offer you aid in exchange for a reasonable price are usually the self-interested and inimical sort, according to the Lore. Thus it is not the summoning or the making pacts with the spirits that is the crime."  
  
"Really," Fenris said flatly, shaking his head at the foolishness. Really, they split hairs like magisters. It just went to show that mages will take any excuse to grasp at more power.  
  
"Now, be aware lad, that summoning is frowned upon, though if circumstances are dire enough it is understood that a Keeper or First will do what is necessary to protect her Clan. That isn't really the issue, though Merrill will most likely find herself censured for her decision. The fact that she went back up the mountain and made things right will go a long way in mitigating that, I hope."  
  
"So what is this convocation supposed to be about if they're not going to charge her with a crime?" he asked.  
  
"A moot point as of today," Elric replied with a small smile. "If the eluvian was destroyed as you and your friends say, then there's no need to discuss what will be done with it."  
  
"Was there any debate about the demon mirror?" he asked curiously.   
  
To Fenris that magical trouble magnet had been nothing but lightning rod for all sorts of dangers. Not to mention the fact that even urepaired it still had possessed power. It was certainly far better off destroyed than it was repaired.  
  
"A genuine ancient magical artifact of the days of Arlethann?" Elric seemed wryly surprised that he'd asked. "Of course! There were a number of elves that were more than content to let my young Merrill take all the risks on her own, so that they could sweep in and reap the benefits if there were any to be had. Mind, these are the same ones who plan to point their fingers at her and berate her actions as endangering the clan now that they do not benefit."  
  
Fenris grunted acknowledgement of the irony. Some things truly were universal.  
  
"Because her actions were taken for the benefit of the clans and the enrichment of our knowledge, no real censure will occur, I'm sure... but... well, they might censure her for destroying the artifact."  
  
"Of _course_ they will," Fenris said flatly, rolling his eyes. "Because that would make sense, let's reprimand the little twit for finally doing the _right_ thing."  
  
"Watch who you call a twit, city elf," Elric admonished sharply. "That's my daughter you speak of."  
  
Fenris let it slide. He'd seen small evidence of some families that actually took thier blood bonds to each other as seriously as the tales said families did. Elric had mentioned that Merrill had brothers, apparently lots of them, and at least one of them was a mage of no small talent. Perhaps discretion was in order, at least while he was in the camp.  
  
"Why tell me this?" he asked curiously. "It is a fact that the mirror is destroyed, and in my opinion your daughter should be proud that she was the one to do it. Finally displaying sensible behavior should be encouraged."  
  
"That's not how some will see it," the older man said sadly. "By going rogue and living away from her own clan, not to mention the fact that she just faced down a demon straight out of on of our people's most harrowing legends, my girl has set herself up to be something of a bone of contention now."  
  
"Contention?" he said skeptically. "Over what? She is but a mage. One of the more powerful ones I've seen, I'll grant that if I must... but she has the attention span of a butterfly. Who would fight over her?"  
  
"It's her skill and her power that is of interest, and the uses it can be put to," Elric said firmly. "She will face penance for her indiscretions, and there are those who will be on the council at the convocation who would have no qualms about using her power and skills to further their own ends."  
  
"Sounds like a Dalish problem, or at the very least, a witch problem," Fenris said. "It has nothing to do with me."  
  
"Are you not her friend?" the older elf asked, taken aback.  
  
"No," Fenris replied, putting paid to that mans crazy notion that _he_ would want to be friends with a _mage_. "We are associates. There are times when we must travel together, in the company of Hawke, but I go because I owe Hawke a life-debt. If that means suffering the presence of the mage, so be it."  
  
He was saved from having to say anything more to the man's injured and offended look by the approach of Keeper Marethari. For a mage, that great lady's presence was... somewhat tolerable. He even felt that the great respect that Merrill still held for her teacher even in the midst of her disobedience was one of the few traits approaching sensible behavior the young mage possessed.   
  
"Fenris," she said. "Merrill is awake and has requested to see you, da'len."  
  
"I'm not a child," he corrected her, deliberately making his tone and sneering, rude and belligerent as he could to show the woman that though mages ruled among her people _he_ was not going to suffer their presence with equanimity. The elder lady looked more amused than offended by his slight rebellion. "And why does she wish to see me?"  
  
"She would not say, only that she wishes to speak with you," Marethari said calmly, ignoring his tone.  
  
 _:I see where the witch gets it from,:_ he thought idly.   
  
It always rather surprised him how Merrill never seemed to rise to the bait during their verbal tiffs. He heaped scorn on her, berated her choices, her way of life and went out of his way to insult her even when she was trying to be _nice_ to him, but unlike Anders she would not reply in kind. At least with the abomination he could get his hits in and feel satisfied, but with Merrill it was like kicking a puppy. Her teacher seemed to be the mold that Merrill was formed from. Granted, the younger Dalish mage was still rough around the edges; she was proud, and spoiled and oblivious, but it was as though she and her teacher both were able to hear more in what he said than he meant them to, and knew that the only way to take the wind form his sails was to not respond in kind.  
  
"Isn't she unconscious?" he demanded, irritated at being summoned.  
  
"The human mage is very practiced at the healing arts," Marethari replied. "You should go and see her, she seems worried about you."  
  
Fenri snorted at the presumptuousness that _she_ should be worried about _him_ when they were in a camp full of Dalish that he could flatten easily, blindfolded and with one hand tied behind his back. The crazy elven witch would do far better to worry more about herself. After all, she was the one who seemed to take it upon herself to go haring off alone and do crazy things that anyone in their right mind and with a lick of common sense would know are dangerous things to go doing.   
  
_:Like walk up a mountain and engage a legendary evil in a contest of wills,:_ he thought with a headshake.  
  
Still, he rose to his feet and walked the short distance to the tent that she had been taken to for rest and healing. Truth be told he had been aware of her all evening. All throughout the time he'd quietly sipped wine by the fireside, and through the conversation he'd suffered through with her father, he had felt the direction she'd been in as a subtle awareness, like the feeling of eyes boring into his back, or the ephemeral pressure of the heat of a campfire warming his skin. He _knew_ where she was, just the same as he knew where his left hand was. What was even a little more unsettling to him was the fact that he subconsciously found the knowledge to be comforting rather than upsetting. He knew somehow that the witch knew more about this strange sense of her e seemed to have developed recently and he intended to have the information out of her.


	17. Chapter 17

He pushed back the flap on the tent and stepped in, surprised to see that interior felt much roomier than its exterior would lead one to believe. The walls were a latticework skeleton supporting an exterior cloth-wall of very heavy and thick beaten-wool felt, which came to a soft dome-like point supported by a rib of semi-arched ironwood, fastened securely to a ring in the center of the ceiling. The inside of the center ring was cut out for a smoke hole with a metal brazier and long, collapsible chimney-tube attached to the warming brazier in the center of the ger tooi0 take the smoke out directly.   
  
_:Surprisingly home-like and...colorful,:_ he noted with some surprise.  
  
The interior wall of the cloth house was lined with thick wool-felt tapestries woven in intricate, colorful patterns and the floor was covered in thick woven rugs. Along the interior walls were lined with beautifully carved wooden storage chests and boxes. There was a small low table, an altar in the eastern part of the room, and a large sitting-loom near the door flap. The center part of the ger was mostly bare, save for the brazier for burning wood to heat the ger, giving the illusion of space to the interior. Merrill rested in a futon spread out on the floor, with her back reclined against a chest behind her and four neatly stacked wooden bowls and the last remaining end of a loaf of round-bread testament to the appetite of a warrior after battle beside her. She was covered to the waist by a thick, colorful blanket, and dressed in a loose-fitting sleeping garment. She looked up at his arrival and smiled hesitantly at him, though he could see a deep exhaustion about her face and body that made her look thinner and smaller that she usual.  
  
"You summoned me?" he said gruffly.   
  
He felt unaccountably tense at being alone in her presence, he crossed his arms defensively over his breastplate, irritated with himself for his sudden, strange case of nerves. The fact that she looked so frail was bothering him as well, and the fact that he was bothered, irritated him further.  
  
"Well, I like to think of it as a request," Merrill said with a shy smile. "But I, um... there was something I needed to talk with you about, in private. Please have a seat."  
  
She gestured to a low cushion with some sort of back-supporting device behind it that sat next to the warming brazier, right near where she rested. Merrill fidgeted with the edge of the blanket on her lap as he took a seat cross-legged on the cushion. Fenris studied the patterns woven into the wall-rugs with apparent fascination as a way to avoid looking at her. The silence stretched awkwardly for a long moment. Merrill busied herself with a small and beautifully crafted earthenware teapot and a mixture of herbs.  
  
"Would you like some?" she offered, sounding as nervous as Hawke always said she was with unexpected company. "It's my own blend, and I've actually been complimented on my ability to make tea, and not just by people who know me and don't want to be rude."  
  
"I do not drink tea," he grumbled, eying the drink with distaste and looking around for another bottle of wine as his was mostly gone.  
  
"It's very good for you, better than that wine you seem to like so much," Merrill said as she pulled a metal pot of near-boiling water off the little stove built into the metal brazier. He was a little surprised at how steady her hands were as she poured it it over a fine wire-mesh bowl inside the put to steep. "The tea's benefits change, depending on what you put in it. There's blends that can relax you, or sharpen your focus, there's medicinal teas for ailments and troubles of course, and there are blends that are purely for the enjoyment of taste."  
  
"What's in it?" he asked suspiciously.  
  
"Bluetip, kachava leaf, featherwind cane to add a little sweetness, I have sorrowtree bark for my headache, and selian leaf."  
  
"I... do not know what half of those are," he admitted reluctantly.  
  
"Herbs for flavor mostly, to take out the bitter in the sorrowtree bark," she said. "But I can make you my favorite spring blend; briar-leaf and ekinasha and snowtear. Or if you prefer I could--"  
  
"You babble, woman," he cut her off.  
  
"Oh. Right. I'll stop now," she said.  
  
"You did not request me here to pour your vile concoction down my throat," he said. "Speak."  
  
"But you just said... never mind. Um. Well."  
  
She looked nervous. Granted, she always seemed a little shy and awkward, but in this instance he was surprised she hadn't clumsily poured the boiling water all over herself.  
  
 _:The night is young,:_ he reminded himself.   
  
"I'm not exactly sure how to go about this," she said nervously.   
  
Fenris looked at her steadily, he got that strange sense of her mood again, knowing without knowing how he knew, that she was more than nervous, she was a little afraid.  
  
"It's just... I mean, you're _different_ , I mean not that it's bad," she hastily reassured him. "But you're really, _really_ not Dalish, so I don't even know where to begin."  
  
Fenris huffed impatiently, wishing she'd get to the point and wondering if she'd just insulted him. Merrill swallowed nervously and concentrated on pouring tea with unnecessary intensity. The action of pouring tea seemed to calm her spirit a little bit, for she collected herself and when she spoke next she was a little calmer.  
  
"I know you were raised in Tevinter, Fenris," she said quietly. "Among the elves who live there, is there anything... do they speak about a certain... unusual connection? I mean, are there stories about it?"  
  
"I haven't the least idea of what you're talking about," he said frankly, then added reluctantly. "I wouldn't know what the Tevinter Elves do and do not have stories of, my memories of my childhood and past are gone. My earliest memories are of the agony of these markings being carved into my living flesh. My memories proceed from there. I was kept at my masters side like a faithful hound and my position excluded me from the company of the other elves. We did not associate."  
  
"Oh," she said sadly.  
  
He couldn't explain how he knew, but somehow he sensed her sorrow for him and her pity irritated him. He was strong, the last thing he wanted was her or anyone else's pity.  
  
"Well, I suppose there's no preconceptions about it then, which I guess might be good. So!"  
  
Merrill face skewed up in concentration, as though thinking very hard about something.  
  
"I don't actually know how to explain this in a way you might accept. Most of my explanation comes with long references to the goddess Mythal and Her blessing, but you worship the Maker so I doubt you'll accept it if I tried to explain it the way I know."  
  
"Accept what?" he grumbled, reaching the limit of his patience to put up with her senseless prattle.  
  
"Well, maybe you've never seen or heard of such a thing and you only have my word to tell you that it's real, but sometimes, between two elves there's a certain special bond--"  
  
Fenris regarded her with dawning realization and no small amount of horror. She was trying to proposition him! He'd made his negative feelings about mages in genral and her in particular crystal clear right from the start, it seemed incomprehensible to him that the little twit could ever even begin to imagine that there might be something between them. He'd sooner cut off his sword arm!  
  
"You can't be serious," he said.  
  
"Look, I know it's hard to accept. That's why I wanted to talk with you about it. I was thinking we could--"  
  
"Let me be clear, witch," he said. "Under no circumstances am I forming any bond with you."  
  
"That's lovely then!" Merrill said brightly. "Och! What a relief! I'm glad we talked about this."  
  
"Wait, what?" Fenris said, thrown for a loop.  
  
"The soulbond," she said, as though it should be obvious.  
  
"What's a soulbond?" he said blankly.  
  
Merrill sighed a little and muttered  
  
"I knew that went too easy. Okay Fenris, I need you to listen to me very carefully, and to not interrupt. There's no room for confusion or misunderstandings here. I'm going to go ahead and give you the Goddess Mythal version of things because that's what I know, you can fit it into your own head any way you like."  
  
"Go on then," he said. Mentally he added 'crazy witch' to the end of it.  
  
Merrill straightened and her voice took on the secure measured tones of a Keeper imparting ancient wisdom to her clansmen and Fenris tried not to look condescendingly amused at the sight of _Merrill_ being _confident_. The little blood mage found a sliver of backbone, how cute.  
  
"From time to time, and for Her mysterious reasons," she began. "The goddess Mythal singles out two elves to receive a very special blessing. This blessing is what is called a soulbond, a connection wrought between two souls. Some say that these souls were once one soul and got separated, others say that the connection is divine will. Either way, a pair of bondmates are essentially one entity in two bodies. According to all the lore on the subject they feel what is in each other hearts--"  
  
"That's just--" he protested.  
  
"I said no interrupting!" Merrill said severely, frowning at him."As I was saying. The goddess puts this bond into place, supposedly to mark the pair out as recipients of Her favor, or possibly because they have a difficult destiny ahead of them and will require the unwavering support and empathy between two souls that the soulbond will bring to them. Either way, it is a connection that transcends mere magic or anything of this world or the next. It's more complicated than love, and once awakened, is absolutely unbreakable, even in death. The death of one bondmate in an awakened soulbond means the death of the other. Likewise, happiness is doubled and sorrow halved... or so the legends state."  
  
"Wait... I have heard of this phenomenon," he said slowly, as she seemed to be done talking. "Not from other elves, but from a magister. One of Danarius' cronies was studying the... elven abnormality, as he called it. He complained about the rarity of specimens for study, he said he had been able to acquire only two pairs of specimens, one pair of which had died as a result of a particularly invasive procedure. He'd wondered if my master might know of any others."  
  
Merrill regarded Fenris in horror, a horror he could sort of sense in a way that told him that not all of his feedback was through interpreting the look on her face. There truly was something _witchy_ going on.  
  
"That's... just awful!" she said sincerely.   
  
"What have I said about Magisters?" he replied, with a look that conveyed the thought that she might be daft. "Have you not been paying attention? They are not good people. What else do you expect when you demand that others too weak to stand against you pay for your ambitions with their lives?"  
  
"I'm in agreement with you, don't put me in with them!" Merrill snapped defensively.  
  
"Blood mage," he pointed out.  
  
" _Former_ ," she corrected primly. "And I've never once demanded another pay the costs of my magic. The demon, I will admit now was... biting off more than I could possibly swallow, so I must cede the victory to you in that case, just try not to be an utter prat about it?"

His feeling of smug elation at the witch openly acknowledging his victory was dampened a bit by her wordage about his attitude.  
  
"Prat?" he questioned.   
  
Where did she hear that word?   
  
"You've been spending time with Anders," he surmised, ignoring the slight feeling of rivalry he got at the thought.  
  
"We're losing focus on the real matter here, Fenris," Merrill said with a note of impatience. "So you at least accept that the soulbonding truly exists, correct?"  
  
"I saw the evidence with my own eyes, sadly," he said reluctantly. "Danarius was curious about his associate's peculiar study and the things he claimed about it, so he went to witness one of his experiments, and naturally I was brought along as his bodyguard. The magister was interested in using this 'soulbonding,' as you call it, to help him measure the substance of a soul and figure out what part of the body it might be housed in. He was one of those "immortalis" researchers."  
  
"Immortalis, like immortality... you mean...?"  
  
"Yes, trying to cheat death with blood magic," Fenris nodded.   
  
He gave a small grimace of amusement at the look of patent disbelief on her face.   
  
"Why so surprised?" he demanded. "It's a very, very popular line of study among Imperium Magisters. Anyway, this fellow figured that if he could find where the soul was housed in the body, he might then find a way to extricate the soul without it automatically passing on to whatever awaits after death. Once that was done, he theorized that the soul could be transferred to a new sort of vessel. Not a new theory certainly, but also not one that had ever proven fruitful in the past despite many, many, _many_ attempts over the years."  
  
"They try to cut the soul from the body?" Merrill said. "Doesn't that kill them?"  
  
"Yes, naturally. Actually, it kills their experimental victims anyway, the Magisters come out of it just fine, some of them with more notes and a new line of research. This other Magister must have heard some elvhen tale about these souldbonded somewhere. Figuring that the bond was literally a thread that tied the souls together, he thought that it would lead him right to where the soul was housed inside the body. Thus, he was trying to find a way to cut the bond."  
  
Merrill gasped in horror, hands flying to her face in dismay at the idea.  
  
"Tell me he didn't succeed," she begged sorrowfully.  
  
"I suppose that depends," Fenris said steadily. "The elves did not survive his battery of tests, but he did discover that whatever force tied them together could not be severed with magic, or with lyrium blades or..."  
  
He looked significantly down at his lyrium-lined hands inside their spiked gauntlets.  
  
"Pulled out like a weed from within their bodies," he finished. "His hypothesis changed to this phenomenon being a strange sort of partial-possession, in which two souls exist somehow in a perpetually merged state with one another."  
  
"I... don't know what to say," she said, clearly dumbstruck. "Partial possession? What an awful way of putting it! Soulbonding is supposed to be a gift from Mythal. And speaking of which, there is no record in all the lore of the Dalish, not even the ancient records, of any soulbonded pair successfully resisting the bond. Among my people, if two elves are blessed with holy union, they're married by Divine Will and that's that. Oh, the bonding gives them a certain special status in the Clans to be sure, but that's mainly out of the belief that they are living evidence of the Creators still having some influence, however small, to aid and comfort Their children. More like living symbols of hope that all is not lost."  
  
"Hnh," he grunted, shaking his head at the weird fancy.   
  
The Dalish seemed a strange people at times, but he supposed he could sort of see where they were coming from. People often saw the will of the Maker in even the most ordinary things, it made sense that the Dalish would see the extraordinary as a sign that their gods had not forsaken them.  
  
"Now, I didn't know this until I researched it," Merrill went on. "But there are actually three levels in a soulbonding. A latent state, which is what we are in right now. I can tell... well, just because I can _tell_ , that you've noticed a few odd things going on lately. Restlessness, strange dreams, the weird ability to sense what I'm feeling, knowing where to find me at any given moment... it's all perfectly normal for this stage of the bonding. It gets worse from here you know."  
  
"So you think we're... _You and_ I? With a _mage_?! That's ridiculous!" he scoffed.   
  
"I know, I'm just as upset about the idea as you are," Merrill nodded firmly in agreement with him. "I've already had to give up things that I didn't want to because of this stupid thing. The last thing I want is this condition we share getting any worse."  
  
She made him sound like some kind of infectious disease, and that should be _his_ line!  
  
"What makes you think that we're soulbonded and this isn't all some kind of strange side-effect from your demon-mirror or some other magical mishap? I always said that stuff is dangerous and too difficult to control."  
  
"If it were mere magic, Fenris, I would be able to undo it, or at least trace it," she said with belabored patience. "Or if I couldn't, Keeper Marethari could. The Tehn'shii ritual completely scoured clean my channels of all taint and flooded me with the raw power of the Beyond, and yet it didn't touch this ability I have to feel you. Not even the will of that demon could affect it."  
  
"We've known each other for years without any witchy magical possession cropping up, why would it suddenly start now?" he demanded querulously.  
  
"In all that time we've been in each other's company how often have we touched each other, or even met gazes for any length of time?" she countered.  
  
The answer to that was not at all. His aversion to mages made certain of it. Every time they'd had to be in one another's company, when he wasn't insulting her, he liked to be as far from her as possible. His own aversion to touch kept contact with even people he thought were tolerable down to a minimum, people he detested never got within ten inches of him, even in the heat of battle. And if all that were true, then it wasn't like he was going to stare at her over the fire. It looked like his aversion to the witch had served him in more ways than the obvious if it had kept this contagion they shared at bay for so long.  
  
"So you're saying that it's just been laying there, dormant, until it suddenly decided to flare up for no reason?"  
  
"I don't _know_ Fenris!" she replied, exasperated. "I mean, there's lore about bondmates yes, but every story is either about the two of them wakening their bonds or about their lives after they bond. No-one seems interested in writing about what they were like as individuals before they bonded. Though some accounts have hinted that there were cases in which the two bondmates did not get along. In fact, there's one story about a bonded pair from two clans who were feuding, but that story I suspect has been embellished over time."  
  
"How do I know you're not making this up?" he demanded suspiciously.  
  
Merrill looked at him, her face a copy of his own when he wanted to say wordlessly that the person before him was being an idiot.  
  
"Let's start with the fact that I just gave up my eluvian," she said in a voice of belabored patience. "Which, if you recall, is an artifact for which I left my clan in disgrace, for which I gave up my life and position here with my clan, for which took up questionable magical practices in order to heal so that I could gain precious knowledge that is worth more to me than my own life's-blood. Why would I do that? I'm sure you've been wondering. Well I'll _tell_ you why. In order for me to use blood magic properly, without ending up sacrificing babies on blood altars as you were so convinced that I would, the one unbreakable rule was that _I_ would only ever be the one to pay it's cost. In a soulbonding all is _shared_. Whatever cost I paid would be paid by my bondmate as well, and there would be no way for me to protect him from it. There was no way around this fact, and so I was faced with a choice; hurt you in order to get what I want, or give it all up. I chose to give it up. _I_ was willing to face scorn from my people, and the dangers of Spirits, and the prices of blood magic Fenris... but you were an innocent, and it's my duty to protect you as best I can, my responsibility to do the right thing. Do you think anything less would have convinced me to destroy the eluvian?"  
  
Fenris regarded her for a very long moment in silence, mulling it over. She had him there. Judging by everything he had seen since they'd met, everything with Merrill had come back to that demon-mirror and the lost knowledge she'd hoped to gain from it. He had always scorned her for giving up what had always looked to him to be an idyllic life; a good home, people who loved her, a position of respect, all to go chasing ghosts and playing with demons that would eventually turn around and consume her. It had seemed to him like tossing aside gold to pick up poison, but he sort of understood that the twit felt that there were things more important than her own comfort and happiness. He could have respected that were it not so patently the wrong decision to make. Weighed against everything she had given up to pursue the eluvian, only something of much greater importance would make her give it up.  
  
"And if you need proof, just meet my gaze for a long moment," she added.   
  
No chance of that, he well remembered the momentary madness that had almost overtaken him the last time he'd gotten too close to her.  
  
"So what now then?" he demanded bitterly, hating the situation already. "I escape iron chains in Tevinter only to have my soul chained to a mage?"  
  
"I knew you'd see it that way," she said a bit glumly. "And truth to tell, I don't want this either."  
  
Fenris couldn't help the small spike of insult he felt at her words. _He_ was supposed to be the one who was upset about the situation. After all, _he_ was the one being forced into some horrible arcane connection with the sort of creature he hated the most in all of existence. It wasn't as though she were doing badly out of this. In fact, he didn't see how she had any cause for complaints! He was a warrior of some skill in battle, he was useful too, and more intelligent than she was, certainly. He'd probably spend the rest of his days trying to keep her out of messes her curiosity might get her into. And he was not unattractive, or so he'd been told. She was really getting the better end of the deal here.  
  
"Oh to be sure an' yeh're a braw enough laddie," Merrill said, sensing the tenor of his thoughts through thier link and calling him on them. "But then yeh have tae go and open yehr mouth."  
  
"Excuse me?" he demanded.  
  
"Yeh heard me right," she replied with some small amount of heat herself. "Yeh think I'm chuffed at the thought of being bonded tae a mon who treats me like dirt? Who never has a truly kind word tae say tae me, one who insults me at every opportunity and whose tone and manner are always disdainful? Do you think that when I pictured my future lifemate the first thing I thought was "och! let's settle wi' a mon who hates me and everything I stand for, who would sae me locked in a prison of stone and iron because of my talent, who never saes me as who I am, but what I am?" Yer a braw laddie, an' handsome enough I'll give you that, but for someone like me, yer no prize."  
  
That actually brought him up short for a second and his jaw clamped shut in surprise on the cutting remark he'd been about to deliver. It hadn't occurred to him that the silly little mage would be less than pleased with the situation. Weren't women supposed to like things like that? Romantic bondings and guaranteed love written in the stars and other such drivel?   
  
_:Then again she probably thinks nothing of summoning demons for a cup of tea,:_ he thought.   
  
Merrill was probably just abnormal in a _lot_ of ways. If he'd gotten a _normal_ woman for this sort of thing, she'd be properly appreciative of her good luck in landing an exciting, handsome, capable, strong man to protect her. Of course, she'd probably also be giggling in a group of other girls, planning the wedding and writing sonnets about the eternal nature of thier devotion. Or worse, expect to be rescued from every dragon, blood-mage, kidnapper, bandit, or slaver in Kirkwall. He could hear the bards tuning their lutes already.  
  
 _:Or even worse... Varric readying his pen!:_  
  
"Where do you get these notions from, Fenris?" Merrill looked at him like he was absolutely daft.

_:She has some sort of witchy ability to read my mind,:_ he thought, unsettled.

"I just don't see how a man who hangs around women like Pirate Queen Isabella, Guard-Captain Aveline or Bethany when she was still here, could possibly have formed such parochial, male-chauvinistic opinions."  
  
His cheeks colored in embarrassment. There was a reading circle of silly young noble-girls still in school that met in the abandoned garden beneath his window every other afternoon and read aloud the latest romantic serial. The current volume was one that was not so bad, about a noblewoman kidnapped by a pirate while she was on her way to an arranged marriage to a much older baron far away... Fenris shook his head. That wasn't the point. The point was, _he_ was the one with the right to be upset about the situation.

"I fail to see how you're coming off badly from this situation," he argued. "As far as I can see, you get rid of your demon, escape the consequences of your foolish decisions and get to go back to your people and be their pampered little mage-queen again. All I get is being soul-chained to a stupid mage who can't tell a demon from a hole in the ground."  
  
"Well we both have our problems with the idea," Merrill corrected him. "You don't want to be tied for life to a mage, you couldn't possibly be any clearer about that, and I don't want to be bonded to a mage-hater. I shall tell you plainly right now my lad, I may have given up the less than savory burdens I took on to try and help my clan--"  
  
"Less than savory is a fine way of referring to blood magic and demon summoning," he interjected. "I would have used the term unholy black magic of the darkest sort."  
  
"But I'm not giving up my magic completely," she said as though he hadn't spoken. "And since that's the only way I can see you possibly being satisfied with the situation, we're going to have to figure something else out. My magic is part of me, part of who I am and not just what I am, and unlike seemingly every other mage in Thedas, I'm not ashamed of it and I don't think of it as some terrible curse or burden."  
  
"Neither do the magisters," he replied.  
  
"Don't you ever get tired of looking at only the bad things?" she shot back.  
  
"Not when I'm right," he replied easily.  
  
"You should stick around then, and watch the other Keepers, you might see things differently if you do," she said, her tone surprisingly gentle.   
  
It was a little disappointing that he could never truly seem to get a fight out of her. She was so calm and accepting, even when he knew he was being cruel. Still...  
  
"I doubt it," he maintained. "Everyone has an angle."  
  
"Really, mister cynical and mad at the world..." Merrill snapped, clearly loosing patience with him. "And what's Hawke's angle? What's Aveline's? Now Isabella, yes, I'll grant you that, but Sebastion? Or Varric even. Face it, your life, both of our lives, have been blessed with good people in them, people who care about others. There are a lot of people out there who would have contacted your old master Danarius and taken the reward for turning you in! Varric and Hawke and Aveline I know for a fact have been working hard to protect you. Did you think your three years of peace from bounty hunters, squatting in an old mansion in Hightown was a coincidence then? Do you realize how many patrols Aveline has arranged around your comings and goings, or how many nobles Hawke has had to chase off the idea of buying up a prime piece of real estate in a desirable location, or how many would-be bounty hunters and Carta thugs Varric has had to buy off? So spare me your world-weary cynicism Fenris. I understand you've been hurt and you like to wallow in it--"  
  
"Wallow?!" he said, insulted.  
  
"Oh, excuse me... brood, sorry, let me spare your dignity for you."  
  
Maybe he should have not wished that Merrill would put up a fight, when she did, that woman took no prisoners.  
  
"Rare exceptions aside, I doubt I'll find anything that's so remarkable about your precious Keepers," he said. "In the end they are still mages. Mages are ever trapped in their lust for power."  
  
"Like anything else in the world, you won't know unless you give it a chance," Merrill said. "After all, isn't that how you met Hawke? Didn't you give him a chance to not turn you in, and now you have a lethaliin for life."  
  
"None of this addresses how we get rid of this bond we share," he switched the subject, not wanting to admit that she'd actually won that one.  
  
"There's no getting rid of it Fenris," merrill said flatly. "Think of it like a force of nature, you could just as soon ask a storm not to rain on you. Further than that, if the mage were powerful enough, he might be able to use magic to get the rain to stop, but a soulbond is something that even the strongest magic is useless against."  
  
"So you're saying we're stuck this way?" he demanded.  
  
"I'm afraid so," Merrill said sympathetically. "But cheer up, it's not as bad as it could be. Our bond is still latent. Sure, we can sense small things about each other from time to time when we feel something particularly strongly, but it's not as bad as it could be."  
  
"It's bad enough!" he snapped. "Do you realize how maddening it is to be separated from you when I can sense that you face danger?"  
  
"No," she replied honestly.   
  
"Well it's... difficult," he grumbled.  
  
One more day and night like the last he'd spent and he'd be done for.  
  
"I'm still not entirely convinced that this isn't your fault somehow," he added.  
  
Merrill frowned at him and took a deep breath, he could feel the spike in irritation she felt at his obtuseness just as he could sense her underlying honesty in everything she'd told him. It was further evidence of a reality he did not wish to accept, so he was going to ignore and deny it for as long as he possibly could.  
  
"Blaming me or trying to deny its existence won't get you anywhere," Merrill informed him. "I don't like it either, but what cannot be cured must be endured. For right now we have to talk about the particulars of the bonding, otherwise we'll both wind up like every other bonded pair in the stories; with a fully awakened bond and either seven children or a tragic ending, take your pick."  
  
"I'll take the tragic ending," he said unequivocally.

Merrill rolled her eyes at him.  
  
"So, the Bond is awakened to the second stage by physical contact," she informed him in a 'moving on' sort of tone. "That's skin to skin by the way. If there's anything in between us, like cloth or armor, it won't take hold and we're safe."  
  
"There's a mercy," he muttered, making a mental not to have his gauntlets changed to cover the pads of his hands completely instead of leaving his palms bare.  
  
"Da'len..." Mearethari called, interrupting their discussion. "Is everything alright in there?"  
  
Merrill made a gesture and the walls of the tent glowed briefly.  
  
"Just fine," she called out to her teacher. She turned back to him and lowered her voice to a near whisper.  
  
"I had put a spell on the walls of the tent to block out the sound of our discussion becaue I didn't want anyone listening on or overhearing us when I broke the news to you. If my clan finds out about our bonding..."   
  
"They'll disapprove?" he hazarded, not certain what the Dalish might make of their aberration.  
  
"Worse," she said, seriously. "They'll all be very happy for us. Overjoyed, in fact."  
  
"In other words we'll be marched to the marriage altar; bound and gagged if need be," he surmised.

Merrill confirmed it with a somber nod.  
  
"I'm actually taking an enormous risk here," Merrill replied seriously. "A soulbonding is a gift from the goddess Mythal. It may happen between two individuals, but it's considered to be a blessing on the entire clan. To reject such a bond is _blasphemy_. We Dalish don't treat that word the same way the chantry does, where it seems like sneezing during the chant of the light will get you branded a heretic. There's maybe three things considered blasphemous by our faith, and rejecting a soulbond is one of them. It's not just trying to deny a blessing of the Goddess, it's also denying the Clan the chance to share in that blessing."  
  
"Really," he said flatly, giving her an odd look. It sounded strange to him.  
  
"I could be excommunicated for this!" she hissed. "Banished for good, never to return. I'm sticking my neck out for you."  
  
"I thought you said you weren't happy about it either," Fenris pointed out.  
  
"I'm not," Merrill said with a small sigh, looking down. "Your attitude is terrible and the way you treat people really bothers me, but I have my own flaws, I'll admit that. If it were just me, I'd bow my head to the will of my Goddess and accept that She has a plan, however much I may dislike it. But you've suffered enough at the hands of magic and mages, you don't deserve to be fettered to someone you despise and forced to be around things that make you unhappy."   
  
She smiled, trying for a weak joke.  
  
"You're unhappy enough all on your own."   
  
Fenris didn't smile in response, mainly because it wasn't funny, but also because he was... well, a little touched. A very little.  
  
"So all we have to do to avoid this getting any worse than it is, is just not ever touch each other? What about what's already in place?"  
  
"I don't know," Merrill said. "As far back as our stories and legends go, there has been no record of a bonded pair successfully resisting the bond, and if there are any who tried, their stories were not preserved, or if they were they account hat survived is now radially different from the reality. To hear our people sing of it, you'd think that every pair to ever receive the Blessing of Mythal went into it with joy in their hearts and a song on their lips. But that couldn't possibly be entirely true, one of the tales has two of the bondmates from feuding clans!"  
  
"Was that an expression of doubt about the sacred and honored histories and traditions of your people that I just heard?" he asked archly.  
  
"Then again, I've only had the histories that I've personally preserved to research from and my tastes were... a bit more romantic. I could ask my Keeper whether there is a record any pair finding a way to undo a soulbond."  
  
"I'm not sure that's wise," Fenris said. "You are a terrible liar. And when I say terrible, I mean utterly hopeless."  
  
Fenris ignored the stray thought that said that this fact was one more thing in favor of Merrill speaking an uncomfortable truth when she spoke of their inconvenient bond.  
  
"I doubt very much that if you broached the subject, even as a hypothetical situation, your Keeper would not be able to read you like a page of print, or at least become suddenly incapable of reading between the lines. She would have this little secret of ours out of you faster than you could say knife."  
  
"And if that happens, the whole Clan would insist on us marrying," Merrill nodded in agreement.   
  
"A fate to be avoided," he confirmed. "At least on my end of things."  
  
His tone conveyed clearly that he still didn't think _she_ had any cause for complaint about the prospective bondmate that her heathen Goddess had supposedly chosen for her.  
  
"Tha's some confidence yeh have there," she said with a slight edge to her tone.   
  
He noted that he accent thickened when her emotions were stronger about something.   
  
"So until we can work out a way to sever this tie between us, we'll simply have to avoid contact with each other."  
  
"It can't be that hard," Merrill said, suppressing another yawn. "We've managed just fine so far, after all."  
  
Fenris hoped, after he bid her rest herself, that those were not famous last words. He extinguished the wicks on the lamps lighting the ger and pushed aside the tent flaps to walk out into the night.   
  
"There he iii-iiis...!" Hawke singsonged, sounding suspiciously triumphant about something.   
  
Fenris rolled his eyes in disgust with a healthy dose of disdain when there was assorted clapping, catcalls and wolf-whistles from the drunker members of the gathering. They were teasing him about what might have gone on between the two of them, all alone in a tent together. Those that knew him and how he felt about mages in general and Merrill in particular found the innuendo doubly amusing he would imagine.  
  
"Polishing your sword there, are we Fenris?" the irritating rogue called over, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.  
  
The drunken sots next to them seemed to find that hilariously funny, there was clapping and other lascivious comments. Fenris elected to ignore them all with a dignity they didn't deserve, save for the scowl of insult at the implication he sent their way.  
  
Hawke was grinning in the same way that Isabella would have grinned; like they were already mentally penning the hot, steamy love scene between him and the person he had just been alone with for the last hour.  
  
"No."  
  
That was all Fenris said, that was all he needed to say. In light of the situation, that was all he would ever say.


	18. Chapter 18

Merrill had thought she'd been tired when the tehn'shii ritual had been over with. It was nothing compared to how she felt then. Her body was literally shaking with weariness, every limb felt weak and watery, her strength utterly drained from her. The watery weakness in every limb reminded her of the time when Tamlen had challenged Mahariel to swim out to an island in the middle of a lake one day and Merrill had tried to do it too, just to prove that she could. None of them had made it, luckily an adult had been fishing nearby and pulled them into his coracle before anyone had drowned. Merrill had been so tired that even when they'd got to shore, she hadn't had the strength to climb out of the boat. If it hadn't been so urgent that she talk with Fenris alone about thier bonding before anything else had a chance to happen she'd have simply fallen over and slept once she was done with the four bowls of nourishing porridge that Marethari had given her.  
  
 _Part of me still can't believe I'm alive!_ she thought with weary triumph.  
  
Merrill knew now that the weakness of the aku'zhan ritual was that, though it evened the battlefeild between a mage and a demon by making it a contest of wills and negating the superior magical abilities of the fade spirit, a mortal was still a mortal.  
  
 _Perhaps when my elvhen ancestors were immortal and didn't have to worry about the weaknesses if the flesh it wasn't a concern, but for me all it would have needed to do to win was wait me out._  
  
Sooner or later her body would have given way, either by hunger or by thirst. She had been feeling both, as well as physical weariness from staying locked in one position for so long, staring the demon down. Sooner or later, something would have given way and Merrill would have been forced to sacrifice herself in the final solution.  
  
 _I don't know if this weak, latent soulbond I have with Fenris was the deciding factor, but it did play a role,_ she admitted reluctantly to herself.  
  
Merrill liked to think that sh would have won through just fine on her own, but honesty compelled her to give credit where credit was due, having him near had given her strength, and that strength had enabled her to triumph against the power of the demon. She also felt a little guilty that, of the two of them, Fenris had been the one to be troubled by the recent awakening of ther soulbond. In the last two days the instinct to seek out ones bondmate when they might be in danger had dragged him from his house in Hightown to the Hanged Man in the middle of the night, gotten him knocked around by the magical blasts when the tehn'shii ritual had ended, force-marched him at a run from Kirkwall to the top of the Sundermount, then on top of that, made him fight against some taint-spawned demons' progeny.  
  
 _I don't think a nice house plant is going to be enough of a peace offering,_ she thought.  
  
And to top it all off, she goes and tells him that the two of them are soulbonded.

_He took it better than I thought he would, but neither of us is very happy with the situation._  
  
But it wasn't like all of this was her fault, _she_ hadn't decided to make them soulmates, the Goddess had. Which reminded her, she had resolved that she would pray to her goddess to be released from the soulbond with Fenris as a reward for having given up the eluvian and the blood magic and defeating the demon. Surely those objectives had been the goddess' purpose in forging the bond between the two of them in the first place. It was a threat and a punishment for Merrill disobeying her Keeper and abandoning her Clan.  
  
 _Merciful and benevolent Goddess, if you would see fit to undo what You have wrought, in Your infinite and divine wisdom, I would be ever so grateful,_ she prayed. I _realize now that the mirror thing and the demon and the blood magery was a bad idea all around, and I've repented my misjudgements so there's no ned to go getting any scowly, offensive mage-haters involved._  
  
Merrill tried listening for a long moment, but the tent remained silent, no voices from the great beyond or divine revelations making an appearence.  When she reached out with her new internal sense that let her know where her bondmate was at all times, she still sensed that it was working just fine, so the goddess hadn't answered her prayer right away. She supposed it was too much to hope for some obvious sign of the Goddess having heard her.  
  
 _Maybe if I sleep on it,_ she thought hopefully. _The Goddess will remove it by morning._  
  
She was so very tired, but she wanted to see her Keeper one last time before she slept, to let her know again how sorry she was for causing her so much sorrow...  
  
Merrill was fast asleep before her head touched her pillow.  
  
* * *  
  
She woke to a bright mid-morning sun making the colorful reds and oranges and gold colored patterns on the wall-hangings glow like fire. She blinked blearily, having slept so deeply that she wasn't even sure she'd been in the Fade all that night, she couldn't even remember any of her dreams, except for the strange comforting fact that she had heard the familiar rustle and creak of the aravells in her sleep, and it had lulled her even deeper. She felt so refreshed!  
  
"Ahhhh!" she sighed happily yawning and stretching. She'd slept for so long that her body was a bit stiff, but the fortunate thing about magical exertion was that, unlike physical tiredness, she was never sore the next morning, her mana and channels replentished themselves overnight with no after effects the next day.  
  
"I feel like doing something!" she thought cheerfully.  
  
The Goddess Mythal had been truly generous to her! She had a chance to start her life again. A chance to be with her clan again, to not have to be lonely and isolated away in the alienage anymore. She'd given up the eluvian, and with it perhaps the only way her people could regain the knowledge lost, but somehow over the time she'd been asleep, something inside of her had made her peace with that loss. If Mythal was soulbonding her to Fenris in order to get her out of the situation she'd been in, then it was clear that the Goddess disapproved. It was better that things had played out this way then.  
  
 _Besides, it's not as though that eluvian is the only one in the whole world. There may be more somewhere, ones that aren't so tainted and cracked. It may be that my work was not all in vain, it may still be that my people can regain the knowledge they've lost. But I suppose that is something that can wait. For now...._  
  
She felt like getting up, and dressing, and having a good, proper stretch, and then eating a good, big breakfast of her favorite Dalish dishes (which were not so popular outside the clans). After that, she could speak with her Keeper properly.  
  
Merrill rolled out of her futon then rolled the futon up and stored it properly in its trunk along with the folded blanket leaving the center of the room bare but for the warming brazier. She dressed herself in her simplest garment, not the full tabard and armor she wore when she expected to be somewhere, but a simple sleeveless tunic and claf-length trousers of soft, breathable cloth. She emerged from the tent into the light of morning and found the camp of the combined two clans already a bustle with her people going about thier daily routines. With two clans sharing the same space, things must have felt positively crowded for her clan and Alerion Clan, but Merrill had grown accustomed to the crowding of the alienage in Kirkwall and so the space seemed relatively sparesely populated.  
  
"Andaran'atishan, Keeper!" Merrill greeted her teacher cheerfully.  
  
"And to you da'len," Marethari said with a warm smile.  
  
Merrill had missed that smile. Her teacher was already halfway through her own stretching and limbering routine when Sabrae's First joined her, but just the fact that she had someone to stretch with again made them both feel very happy.  
  
Merrill began her stretching and limbering excersizes to loosen her muscles, and started in on the kaliit' ahn. Kaliit'ahn was a stretching and excersize regimen with various functions based on what regimen of positions were used that combined breathing and meditation with slow sinuous physical exertion. There were poses for simply sitting and stretching, poses that enhanced meditation, poses for strengtheing muscles, ones that encouraged limberness. Merrill chose a regimen that began with a simple meditative pose to help her quiet her thoughts, then simple sitting stretches to work each of her body's muscle groups to warm them (all while maintaining proper breathing of course) then a good series of bends, and arm-balances and inversion stetches to really work her core and tone her muscles. For a Dalish mage, the kallit'ahn was more than mere exercise, the positions were used to increase and smooth ones flow of magic as well. She could feel her magic, which had been flowing through her channels sluggishly of late, quicken and race through her, clean and uncluttered. It felt _good_!  
  
"Good thing Bella's not here," Hawke called over from where he ate breakfast at the fire of a family from Sabrae Clan. "She'd surely have something to say about _that_!"  
  
"What would she have to say about what?" Merrill asked curiously, easily seagueing into the next position in the regimen.  
  
She was in the core strengthening excersizes right then, and was currently been balanced on her forearms with her body bowed up into the air in a curve, her legs bent at the knee and her feet pointed at the back of her head. She was slowly moving her feet down to touch the ground with her knees, her tummy and hips bent inverted upwards and her hands clasped her ankles, her whole body making a triangle.  
  
"Well," he said with a grin. "They'd involve the word _flexible_ , I can tell you that right now."  
  
"She's welcome to join me anytime!" Merrill offered with cheerful generosity. "I'd be happy to teach her."  
  
"Oh, I may have to see that she takes you up on that," he replied, grinning widely for some reason she couldn't fathom.  
  
"Oh, have done!" Fenris snapped at him, smacking him on the back of his head.  
  
"Indeed, it is rude to stare the way you do," Sebastion replied, sounding a bit scandalized.  
  
"Hey, if a lovely veiw is offered to me, it's rude not to appreciate it," he replied with a shrug. "Besides, she never gets it when I'm making a joke and i don't know any other way to make it more obvious. You know how our dear little Merrill likes to feel included."  
  
Merrill finished off her stretches and poses with one last cooling meditative pose and rose to join where her Keeper had moved next to the fire. There was food to be had there. Merrill helped herself to a large bowl of good, plain grains topped with a bit of honey and dried fruit, a small side of seared river fish and a thin soup made from dashi, a stock of boiled riverweed along with a nice cup of tea. The familiar foods of home made her feel like she'd finally come back where she _belonged_. A large part of her questioned how she'd ever thought it a good idea to leave to be in some strange place, far away from all that was good and normal, and live among strangers who were not her people. This was her _home_ , where she belonged.  
  
Keeper Marethari sat nearby, a ball of yarn and two knitting needles in her hands, knitting away at a baby swaddle for one of the babies of the clan that would be due soon. She was joined by the woman expecting the infant and her small circle of friends each with thier own knitting and sewing projects in hand. They greeted the Keeper but ostentatiously ignored Merrill, looking on her with varying expressions of distaste.  
  
 _I'll have a long way to go if I want to earn back thier trust,_ she thought sadly. _If it's even possible at all._  
  
The convocation could very well decide to bar her from her position as Sabrae's First permanently. Merrill half-expected they would. She might, if they were feeling generous, be allowed to become Second in Sabrae Clan, but the position of Heir to the wisdom of the Clan would most likely be forever barred to her, as she had proven herself unworthy of it.  
  
 _I'm still so bad with people..._ Merrill thought. _I'm not so sure being Keeper is what's best for me or Sabrae Clan after all..._  
  
"Andaran'atishan!"  
  
The small piping voice of a young child caught her attention.  
  
"Andaran'atishan, da'len," Merrill replied. "And who might you be?"  
  
She honestly could not place who the child might be, and rather thought she was one of the littles from Alerion Clan.  
  
"Kaela," the child replied succinctly.  
  
 _My! How she's grown!_ Merrill thought in surprise.  
  
She remembered Kaela but as an infant. She had been born to the clan a month before Merrill had decided to seek the aid of the Fade Spirit to help her restore the eluvian. She vividly remembered helping her Keeper to deliver the child into the world on a stormy night, and what a tiny little bundle of pinkness she had been. Now she was up and running around on her own and was fast approaching growing up to Merrills waist. It never ceased to amaze her how quickly littles grew. It served as a somewhat painful reminder of everything Merrill would have missed in the time she'd been gone.  
  
"You're our First?" the child said, a little uncertainly.  
  
"For the present," Merrill answered carefully, mindful of the fact that the convocation had yet to meet and decide what would be done with her.  
  
"Can you do magic?" one of the other children in the little herd asked her.  
  
"Yes," Merrill said.  
  
"Let's see it!" one little boy, older than all of the others demanded excitedly. "Keeper Marethari never does magic where we can see it!"  
  
"Keeper Marethari is wise, da'len," Merrill reprimanded him ever so gently. "Magic is not for show, it is a tremendous responsibility, and the practice of it is not something one takes lightly."  
  
"Can you turn people into toads?" one child asked. "You've lived in the shemlen city, and everyone says that the shemlen magic turns people into toads."  
  
"Oh my," Merrill said, looking at the child in wide-eyed surprise. "I've never seen that before!"  
  
She looked over to where Anders was sitting on a log next to Hawke, eating his own breakfast.  
  
"Can you do that Anders?" she asked hopefully.  
  
"Nope. Sorry. 'Fraid not," he replied, keeping his face down into his bowl.  
  
"Well how about a frog, you have shem magic, can you turn a person into a frog?" the next child adressed the mage directly.  
  
"That sort of magic is... well, it could get a mage into very big trouble," he admitted.  
  
"So you _can_!" Merrill said exitedly. "Ooh! Turn me into a griffon!"  
  
"Now look," he forestalled her before she could get too excited. "I don't know the spell, and even if I did I wouldn't cast it. The chantry expressly forbids the turning of living sentient entities into other forms not their own. It's witchcraft and it's anathema."  
  
"The chantry also forbids mages from walking around outside the Circle Tower and endangering others, but I see that hasn't stopped you," Fenris said, adding in his customary two cents worth.  
  
"Is it really true that they lock up all of their mages in dark dungeons and never let them out?" one child asked, his tone a little disbelieving.  
  
Merrill saw a shadow pass over Ander's face as he answered a little hoarsely  
  
"Yes, it is very true."  
  
"Why? Keepers have magic and they use it to take care of the rest of us," one child asked in confusion. "Minliria here got stung by a Singing Wasp once and almost died, but Keeper Tenuviel used his magic to make her all better."  
  
"Yeah," another child piped up. "And one time the whole clan got chased off the valley we'd settled in for the winter and the human's kept all of our food, but Keeper Marethari actually made trees sprout and bloom in winter to give us fruit and nuts to make it through. Are human mages so different from us that they don't take care of anyone else?"  
  
"That's not true," Merrill immeditely defended her friend, whom the other children were looking at askance. "Anders here is the finest Healer I know, and he works hard to help people whom he doesn't even know just because they need help."  
  
"But... that's what Keepers do," one of the children replied, stating what was for them an obvious truth.  
  
The Keepers served the clan, and the clan protected them. That was simply the Dalish way of life.  
  
"I think its because those Templars must be greedy then," the oldest boy said with an air of finality. "I've been thinking about it. Shadren says that human's like to hoarde things the same as magpies do. They like to collect things just so they can _have_ them. The Templars must go around collecting every person with magic they can find so they can have all of the magic for themselves!"  
  
Anders burst out laughing at the child's impeccable logic (based on what he knew about the world of the city dwellers, which was very little). Hawke was chuckling right along with him, because it actually made sense if one looked at it a certain way and yet the basis of the idea flew in the face of everything it meant to be a Templar.  
  
"Out of the mouths of babes, truly!" Anders said, getting over his hilarity.  
  
"I'd never thought of it that wey, lad," Sebastion said seriously. "The Chantry teaches that the Circle Towers exist to protect the world from the potential harm caused by the mages, but... that puts a different compexion on things doesn't it?"  
  
"May I remind you all of what a kingdom becomes when those who are born with undeniable power are given free reign to use that power however they see fit?" Fenris interjected. "The magisters of the Imperium are without a doubt the most corrupt, greedy, dangerous, not to mention murderous and unscrupulous, group of people in the entire world. They practice _horrendous_ forms of blood magic without a thought for the consequences. and summon demons without a care because they _can_. The Templars _do_ prevent the free practice of vile and inimical magics because their methods act as a deterant for anyone stupid enough to try such a thing."  
  
He looked at Merrill.  
  
"Unless, of course, one is a foolish Dalish witch who can't tell a demon from a hole in the ground."  
  
"It said it was a helpful spirit!" Merrill defended hotly. "And it was so cute and tiny when i first met it!"  
  
"So it batted its big bunny eyes at you and you thought you'd just let it suck out your soul and walk around in your skin?" he needled.  
  
"It didn't work like that, I said our relationship was strictly platonic. And when I discovered that it had violated the terms of our agreement, I certainly shut it down did I not?" Merrill replied. "I'll own up that I was clearly wrong in this case, but I've bowed and made my apologies once, I'm not going to do it for the rest of my life."  
  
"If you'd been in a Cirlce tower like the rest of the mages, you wouldn't have been allowed to make your pact in the first place," Fenris pointed out. "When a mage is given to much freedom they inevitably fall into trouble."  
  
"You could say that about _anyone_ ," Hawke pointed out. "I know more than a few cases of noblemen in Hightown that have used their rank and status to get away with all manner of things they really shouldn't. Aveline can't even bust them because they have influence of their own in the Court. So it's not only mages who can abuse their power."  
  
"No, but mages have a lot more power to abuse. Even one of good intent is not immune from the darker side of magic," Fenris rebutted.  
  
"Upset because the Dalish treat their mages with respect and decency are we?" Anders pressed, never one to let an opportuinity to address his cause slip by him without a comment.  
  
"The Imperium treats their mages with respect," Fenris replied, exactly according to character. "And look at all that's wrong with _that_ system."  
  
"At least their system doesn't herd anyone born a little differently from everyone else into towers and lock them away from the world with armed personnel watching them all like hawks, searching for the least reason to turn them into obedient little automatons."  
  
"Yes, it only enslaves an entire race of people as fodder for their demons and blood magic," fenris rebutted.  
  
"You act as though every single mage in the whole world is just chomping at the bit to start enslaving people and cutting them open when nothing could be further from the truth!" Anders exclaimed. "All we want is just to have the same rights and freedoms as anyone else. To not be locked up like criminals when we haven't committed any crimes, to be allowed to see our loved ones, to have families of our own. It's not too much to ask to be treated like people and not rabid chattel."  
  
"Except that you _are_ a danger, and there's little argument against that if we look at the sheer amount of abominations and blood mages we've seen infesting Kirkwall in the last year alone," Fenris said. "Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. When their backs are to the wall, a mage will always resort to force."  
  
"And the chantry won't? Or have you forgotten what the Templars are all really about?"  
  
"My, my," Marethari said in a soft aside to Merrill. "They're like two weasles in a whipple pot."  
  
"The only time I've ever seen them agree on anything is when they leave off each other and start in on _me_ ," Merrill replied. "I don't know what they will do now that I'm no longer practicing blood magic."  
  
The herd of children had been watching and listening while the debate raged on without them, however the subject matter was something they were uneqquipped to understand very well as they were young and uninformed. They quickly lost interest and turned back to Merrill. The oldest boy said  
  
"Everyone else in the camp is too busy, will you play with us? Saliira says she's got too much to read today."

Saliira, Merrill knew was a child of Sabrae Clan who had begun showing signs of developing magic in the last year or so, so Marethari had taken her in to begin the process of training yet another First for Sabrae Clan.  
  
"She's probably right, poor dear," Merrill said in remembered sympathy for the massive amounts of lore and volumes of reading a First was expected to accomplish. It left very little time for anything else. Right then, Merrill had the rare luxury of having all the time in the world to play games with the little ones, and not have to worry about bruising the dignity of the position of First.  
  
"I would be delighted to play with you all," she said warmly, leading them away by the hand to the nearby woods. "What shall we play?"  
  
It was quickly decided that they would play Keeper and Templar, with Merrill as the Keeper of course, and a collection of hurriedly dressed up rocks as the Templars. The children would all go away into the woods and then sneak up on the "templar camp" and rescue thier Keeper before she would comit seppukku. It was a favorite game of Dalish children.


	19. Chapter 19

Fenris had slept better the night before than he had while on the road to fetch Merrill, but he still could not entirely say that he'd slept well. Of course the term "a good nights sleep" had always been relative for him. As a slave he'd slept lightly to keep an ear out for Hadrianna, who had liked to torment him by playing cruel tricks while he slept. As a soldier in Seheron, he'd protected his master from night attcks by enemy terrorists, for whom the destruction of an enemy mage would have been a temendous coup. On the run... well, naturally he'd slept very lightly so that he would not be surprised by enemy bounty hunters looking to kidnap or kill him. The months he'd lived in the abandoned mansion in Kirkwall had been the best nights he'd ever been able to recall but even then couldn't say he ever slept soundly. Caution was an ingrained habit with him, and it was not one that he had any intention of changing any time soon. There was still a sizable bounty for him in Minanter, he knew, and there were plenty of hunters who would not mind going out of thier way to collect it.  
  
 _This bondmate news, though,_ he thought, worrying over it still.  
  
It had taken a while for the full implications of the thing to occur to him. When Merrill had relayed it to him, all he had really thought about it was that he had an inconvenient connection to a silly mage who litterally could not tell what a demon was when it was slobering in her face.  
  
 _Silly girl would be more likely to pat it on the head and try to teach it to perfom tricks like a puppy!_ he thought, rolling his eyes in disgust.  
  
He was saddled with the witch for the rest of his life. According to her, thier bond was still mostly latent but even latent it was still very troublesome.  
  
 _Even while the bond mostly asleep, I still ran from one end of Kirkwall to the next and up a mountain to face down a demon because I knew she was in danger,_ he thought in annoyance.  
  
He could _sense_ her, just as easily as he could feel magic with his lyrium tattoos. He'd discovered that morning that the closer he was to her, the easier it was for him to  _know_ things about her; her mood, her general state of being. He had been surprised and a little dismayed that morning when this strange new sense of his had "looked" at her appraisingly, guaging her general health and emotional status without his even realizing he'd done it. Now he always knew which direction to go in order to find her, it was like he had an internal compass with a needle forever oreinted on her. he had the sinking feeling that none of this was going to go away.  
  
 _Perhaps if we put enough distance between us the connection will thin and snap,_ he thought hopefully.  
  
It was certainly worth a try to his mind. It wasn't as though it would be very hard for soon Merrill would rejoin her clan. The Dalish were well known for being wanderers who never stayed in one place for very long, when her Clam moved on, they would take the witch with them, and he would be hopefully be freed of their unwanted connection. He knew also, that the Dalish avoided the cities of Men, Sabrae Clan was acting out of character for the people, but given that its leader, Marethari, cared for Merrill and worried over the mirror, it made a certain sense that they had chosen to remain nearby. With Merrill back among her people and the mirror destroyed, they would surely clear out of the area and go back to the wild woods as they preferred.  
  
 _And I shall stay behind and wait for Danarius to at last show his hand,_ he thought grimly.  
  
Kirkwall, for all of its faults, was the first place that he had ever been remotely able to label with the odd concept that others called "home." He found himself reluctant to give up his place there. His former master would hunt him no matter where he fled, it seemed more strategically sound for Fenris to entrench himself in a base, gather allies, and prepare to meet his former master outside of the Imperium Magister's sphere of influence. He would wait until his master at last showed himself, and _then_ he would rid himself of his past forever. If Danarius or the bounty hunters he hired ever managed to get him back to the Imperium, Fenris would once again be nothing more than property. Fenris would rather die than let that happen.

_Useless, frolicking dirt-grubbers,_ Fenris thought to himself in annoyance, looking around him at a people who seemed so carefree, while _he_ , born with the same pointy ears as the rest of them, had been born to a life of oppression, and terror and constant vigilance. _And that twitter-headed mage has got to be the worst of the lot. She's not only born free to a free people, she gets power and special status granted to her from birth and the little idiot throws it all away for nothing!_  
  
The witch had run off to _play_ in the nearby woods with a herd of small childern, laughing and cavoritng around her like lambs in a meadow a few hours before.

_Really, how old is she anyway...?_

He could faintly sense her direction and gritted his teeth in annoyance with himself for subconsciously checking once again. He wasn't even aware he was doing it unless he caught himself at it. In the course of but a few days, expanding his mental sense to "listen" for where the witch was at any givn time had become just as automatic as listening for the silence that presaged danger in the forest when he'd been traveling the unsafe roads alone after he'd escaped the Imperium. He was becoming like one of those obssesive-compulsives he'd seen from time to time, who couldn't resist repeating the same action over again.  
  
It was beginning to annoy him. In a small fit of irritation, Fenris took himself off into the woods for some of the solitude he was more accustomed to so that he could ruminate more fully on his new condition. Varric would likely have called it brooding, but what did he know?  
  
The Dalish Elves were an annoying mix. They all seemed so cheerful and carefree, which seemed to be contradiction when applied to Elves in general. Even if they were not slaves in the Imperium, the Elves he'd seen in the cities of the Free Marches and other kingdoms like them outside of Imperial Rule were far from truly free. They were all penned inside Alienages in the cities, almost as though being Elven were some kind of comunicable disease and they were all being kept there for the good of the wider population. City elves were subsisted in the basest poverty, denied certain rights by law and church doctrine, spat upon and reviled in some cases...  
  
 _They may be opressed but at least they are not enslaved._  
  
So far as Fenris was concerned, the meanest and lowliest City Elf was a thousand times better off than the best of the elven slaves in the Imperium. At least they had freedom.  
  
 _Of a sort,_ Fenris snorted to himself.  
  
The Dalish were right about one thing, Slave or City Elf, there were few differences between the two when it really came down to cases. A city elf may not have a direct master as Fenris had had, they might not have their very lives subject to the whims of the ones who held their chains, but were the lives they lived really freedom? A city elf could only be employed in certain kinds of jobs (all of which were menial and low paying, and if an employer chose not to pay the elf no law would force them to give an honest wage). Elves were prohibted from owning property or passing on possessions that had enough value to tax. Worst of all, if at any time a lord of the land decided that the Alienage population had grown too sizable and was a threat to them, they could order their troops to perform a Purge, and send their soldiers into the alienage to slaughter any elven man woman or child like cattle.  
  
 _I know Merrill remains puzzled as to why more elves who live in the alienages do not do as that Elf Pol did, and run away to join the Dalish but... she has never lived the life of a slave._  
  
She couldn't truly understand what it meant to leave behind the only life she knew.  
  
 _Or pehaps she can,_ he reconsidered. _After all, the little idiot left her Clan behind to pursue that demon and the mirror._  
  
And before that, her family had given her to Sabrae to become their new Keeper. But Fenris still believed there was no way she could _truly_ understand what it was like for him and for the elves of the Alienage. There was a whole mentality to their way of life that enabled them to live in such grinding poverty and not loose themselves to despair. Back when he had been a slave, he knew that he, and others like him, had lived thier lives in pusuit of what they called a "Hundred Year Moment." It was a moment when, under the service of thier masters, they do something so worthy that they would be remembered by the rest of the elves for a hundred years, a moment when they could die at peace, knowing that they would leave something behind.  
  
 _She just can't understand what it's like,_ he thought to himself. _She's lived her whole life with more freedom than most elves would see in ten lifetimes. Even her choice to leave her Clan was a choice, albeit a stupid one._  
  
An ordinary elvhen slave of the Imperium wouldn't know what to do with themselves if they suddenly found themselves free. Orianna, Hawke's elven servant that she'd rescued from the pens and Hadrianna was a good example. She hadn't rushed out to experience freedom at the first opportunity, in fact she'd done the opposite and tried to get the nearest master-like person to put her back in her yoke where it was nice and safe. It could be frightening, faced with the thought of standing on your own in the world when nothing you'd ever done before had prepared you for it. The generational slaves of the Imperium, those whose ancestors had been raised in captivity, usually couldn't imagine thier lives any other way.  
  
 _I suppose, if I'm strictly honest with myself, I'm not so entirely far different from them as I like to think,_ Fenris admitted with a pang.  
  
It had only been an extreme circumstance and a fortunate series of events that had given Fenris the courage to leave behind his life as a slave. If he'd never seen Danarius slaughter that boy, if he'd never been left behind on Seheron and taken in by the Fog Warriors, if he'd never slaughtered his former comrades under his master's orders, perhaps he would still be serving wine and defending Danarius, collared like a dog at his feet.  
  
 _Even I have to admit that my first few weeks of true freedom after I'd escaped the Imperium were some of the most bewildering weeks of my life._  
  
Even if he didn't factor in the bounty hunters that Danarius had sent after him, just learning to adjust to living like an ordinary free man had been difficult at first. A slave lived every day of their lives with the knowledge that everything they owned, the clothes on thier backs, the food in thier bellies, was a gift from thier masters and those gifts could be withheld at any time for any reason. But likewise, every slave knew that if he had clothes on his back and food in his belly he would go on enjoying them for as long as his master was pleased. He was never given a choice in what clothes he would wear or what food he would eat, and for the longest time Fenris hadn't quite known what to do with all of that freedom and choice.  
  
He could buy a cloak (with the money he looted from the bodies of bandits and bountyhunters) but even that simple choice had bewildered him at first when the shopkeeper had presented it to him. Did he want a brown cloak or a black one or a red one or a green one? What materials did he prefer? Did he want it weather proof or cut for show? Fur trim? Wool lining?

_And breakfast! What a surprise that was, I still remember looking around wondering if someone had mistaken me for a Liberati._

He still wasn't sure if he should be amused or horrified at his first encounter with buying food for himself. For his entire life until then food had been given to him by his master (if he could keep hadrianna from stealing if from him out of spite) and he hadn't had a choice in what he ate; he ate what he was given and was grateful for it. It was the same among the Fog Warriors who'd fed him as well as sheltered him and healed him. Most inns in small towns had a limited menu, one or two items on it at most, but the cook at the first in he'd ever ordered food from had been Orliesian! There had been so many choices rattled off by the serving girl that he'd had to make her repeat them twice. He hadn't even known what half of them were, and the ones he did know of were because he'd seen them on his master's table and had never tried them himself. He'd been reduced to pretending to act as he'd seen his former master do at a resteraunt and "confidently' order his food (something he'd chosen at random) like he knew what he was doing.

_In a lot of ways, it feels as though I'm **still** pretending._  
  
Fenris looked around him at the gathering of Dalish with their odd, tattooed faces, their free laughter and easy comraderie. The way they traded goods and made new objects out of raw materials, they way they laughed and talked and sang and drank as though they didn't have a single care in the world, and he knew deep down he'd never really be like any of them.  
  
He caught himself looking back in the direction where he knew that female elf mage was and felt a sharp flash of irritation, both at himself and the situation in general. She'd _said_ she didn't want the soul bonding with him though her people considered it a blessing from their heathen Goddess, but Fenris wondered if that was true. She'd also said that if it had been anyone else _but_ him she would have aqquiesced to the will of her Goddess. That would seem to imply thatshe found him lacking in some way. It was probably because he was a slave. She might go on and on about how the elvhen were he people and she wanted to help them all, but deep down she had to feel that her mage talent made her superior to him, and he just wasn't good enough for her. He was sick to death of being tied to mages! His old master still haunted him and even when he was free he was still daily thrown in their company. Would he ever be free of them? Now he was soul-tied to one, and a naive little blood mage at that! Or _former_ blood mage, so she said...  
  
 _We'll see how long **that** lasts,_ he thought cynically as he let his feet wander idly through the woods, not really paying much attention to where he was going aside from his automatic scan for trouble or danger.  
  
Fenris knew that it would only be a matter of time before she went back to blood magic. The lure of power was too strong. She'd find a way to justify it, whether it was to save her clan or merely her life, she'd use the power and then once she did it would be easier to justify using it again and again.  
  
 _And I'm soul bonded to her!_ he snarled angrily in his thoughts. He'd better get away from her as quickly as possible and pray to the Maker that this cursed connection frayed and snapped with distance.  
  
Then an odd thought occurred to him.  
  
She had given up her blood magic (however temporarily), and destroyed her demon-mirror, _and_ the demon in the cave. She'd done so after she'd discovered their connection. She'd done so _because_ of their connection, or so she _said._ Fenris believed her for two reasons; the first being that he could sense her honesty, and the second being that he couldn't imagine the stubborn fool giving up her mirror any other way.  
  
 _If she's given up the blood magic for good because she wasn't willing to let me share in the price of her magic as she claims, doesn't that essentially mean that she's given it up... for my sake?_  
  
What an odd and novel thought. Fenris was accustomed to never having any power in his life, even simple basic freedoms that everyone else took for granted still felt like luxuries for him. He'd never really given any thought to the idea that he might have some effect over other people. Even when he spoke he often felt as though his words fell on deaf ears. Everyone wanted to listen to that abomination when he spoke of the plight of his poor opressed mages, but no-one ever seemed to care when Fenris warned them all of the dangers of giving mages too much power. Therefore, the thought of himself having a profound effect over another person, such that his mere existence changed their actions and decisions, was...

_Rather gratifying._  
  
Fenris stepped into a clearing and blinked, frozen in surprise at the edge of it. He stared, uncertain that his eyes were not somehow playing tricks on him. In the middle of a small clearing in the woods Merrill was knelt on her knees, inexpertly tied up with a long rope wrapped around her torso and tied with a knot that wouldn't hold a sack of corn. She was surrounded by stacks of branches and tall grass fashioned in the style of scarecrows and decorated with scraps of cloths and bits and ends to look like...  
  
Fenris squinted trying to make out the insignia that had been drawn in a childish scribble on one of the scraps clothing the staw-people. It was a crudely drawn sword surrounded by squiggles. Was that supposed to be the symbol of the Templar order?  
  
"Oh, hello Fenris," Merrill called cheerfully in her accented voice. "Have you come to join? If not, I'd get out of the way if I were you."  
  
"The way of what?" he asked coming closer to circle around her and examine her bonds while she looked up at him, something in her face spoke ofbarely repressed amusement.

"And why ae you sitting there tied up," he demanded in a puzzled tone. "A knot like this wouldn't hold shut a sack of grain."  
  
In the course of his life he'd been captured a time or two, and his captors had made certain to restrain him thoroughly. Merrill should have been easily able to wriggle out of the rope and escape. Merrill smiled up at him from where she crouched with her hands tied behind her back. Fenris's fugitive senses picked up movement nearby and he reached for the sword he was _not_ carrying on his back.  
  
"There they are! Get him!" the higher piping voice of a child called from the brush nearby.  
  
"What--!" he demanded in surprise.  
  
He was cut off by the sight of a pack of elvhen children in mud-paint charging out from the wood nearby, popping up out of piles of leaves dropping down from tree branches and charging from around rocks and trees letting out fierce war-whoops. The pack of children attacked with "swords" made of sticks and flimsy children's bows and arrows made of twigs and twine. They attacked and ovveran the straw dummies, destroying them and then promptly mobbed _him_. They carefully didn't use thier weapons to hurt him, but Fenris found his knees attacked. He nearly lashed out by instinct. but Merrill shouted  
  
"Be gentle, Fenris, they're children and they're just playing!"  
  
Indeed, they didn't bite or scratch, and thier kicks were soft shoves meant only to push him off balance. It was difficult to wrestle against so many and avoid hurting any of them. He was nervous of even letting them pull him down lest he fall too hard and accidentally crush one of them. He tossed a few of the smaller ones into a nearby pile of leaves but the larger ones were tenacious. There were a great many cries of "save the Keeper!" and "kill the evil Templar!" and "for the honor of the Dalish!"  
  
"Why are they attacking _me_?" he demanded of the dalish witch who was watching his plight with every evidence of amusement if the wide smile on her face was anything to go by.  
  
"We're playing Keeper and Templars Fenris," she informed him. "And it seems you've just volunteered yourself to be the evil Templar in this situation. Mind you don't harm the little ones."  
  
At last he decided that yeilding was the safest option to avoid inadvertantly hurting any of them, and he let the "warriors" slowly pull him to his knees. The oldest boy, clearly the ringleader, had his "sword" at Fenris' throat, with two of his age-mates on either side with their bows and arrows (tipped with cloth wads to pad them so no real harm would come of anyone) trained on him. Fenris felt an odd tickle in his stomach at the sight of the eight year old's menacing look, he realized after a surprised moment, that he was actually tempted to laugh.  
  
"Do you yeild, Templar?" the boy demanded seriously. "If you yeild peacefully we may be lenient, so long as you and yours promise to never threaten any of our Clan again."  
  
Fenris was surprised to find himself half tempted to shout "never!" and begin the fraccas all over again.  
  
"Very well, I yeild me," Fenris said, allowing them thier victory.

Children popped up out of leaves and swung down from tree branches all cheering and celebrating their victory by gamboling about like halla calves. Merrill was untied by her rescuers and she thanked them with all due ceremony, though it was plain that she found the whole thing to be immense fun. Fenris was quickly requested by many of the smallest ones to toss them all in the leaf pile as he had done before, but Merrill, clearly sensing that the children would make him thier new playtoy if given half a chance suggested a good swim on a hot afternoon. Shortly after the children all left in a stampeding herd to go and swim in a nearby pond.  
  
"You know," Fenris remarked as he paced alongside Merrill, who was following the trail of the children to make certain that they would not drown themselves in the water. "Had this been a real situation the Templars would have simply made a hostage of you."  
  
"They don't need to know that this young," Merrill replied. "It's alright if you don't introduce them to a warrior's realities just yet, Fenris. Let children be children for a while longer."  
  
While slave children had a somewhat greater degree of "freedom" from the adults in that they were not all expected to begin laboring immediately, Fenris had not observed that the adult slaves had went out of their way to shelter their chidren from the fact that they were slaves and would one day be sold or expected to work for their masters.  
  
"The world will not protect their innoscence," Fenris felt obliged to point out. "You may be doing them a disservice if you leave them unprepared to deal with the realities of what their lives may one day be like."  
  
Merrill smiled softly as she gazed out over the pond with the group of now naked children, all laughing and splashing about, having water fights and challenging each other to diving contests.  
  
"If I'm a good enough Keeper, I may be able to protect their smiles," she said hopefully.  
  
"You can't even walk down a street without winding up in an airing cupboard," he scoffed in exasperation.  
  
"The fact that every place in the Shem city seems designed to look _exactly_ like the rest of it has nothing to do with my ability to protect my Clan," Merrill said, her tone taking on an edge of annoyance with him. "You will find that I do not become lost in the wild wood, and that ruins are no greater difficulty. I will protect my people Fenris, that's why I left them in the first place."  
  
"You think you can protect your people when you can't even manage on your own," he answered.  
  
Merrill didn't reply to him but he could tell by the worried look she cast out over the water that she had the same doubts inside herself. He felt an unexpected pang of... something, it _might_ have been guilt, at so bluntly, and even a little cruelly, pointing out her weaknesses. It was clear that Merrill's position among her people would not be the same as when she had left them, and that her life was essentially in limbo right then.  
  
 _:Well,:_ Fenris thought, squelching the unwelcome feeling of empathy. _Welcome to **my** life. I've never had a day that I can remember that hasn't had uncertainty in it._  
  
Even if they stripped her of her rank as First to Sabrae Clan, it wasn't as though she would lack for anything. Even an ordinary sort of Dalish elf, like a warrior or a scout, was given food and shelter and protection in the extended family of the Clan. This went double for mages who seemed to have a special status. Her mage talent (and the kind of training she had received as a First) would _still_ probably make her a valued commodity among her people if she chose to travel with another Clan. He had just seen for himself that Dalish were trained from a young age to protect thier mage, Merrill would be safe among her people... And he would be well rid of her.


	20. Chapter 20

Merrill tried not to let show how deeply her bondmates... er, _Fenris's_ words troubled her. She knew she wasn't any good at anything. There had to be Firsts in other Clans, she was sure, who were a _thousand_ times better than she was and had everything it took to be a Keeper without relying on anyone. Merrill knew she'd never have the graceful poise that her own Keeper possessed, but he didn't have to be so _mean_ about it!  
  
 _He's just a meanie,_ she thought a bit childishly. _A mean meanie who means, that's what he is._  
  
 Fenris used his words like knives, and he seemed to derive some kind of cruel pleasure from inserting them in all of her weakest spots. She _knew_ she hadn't made the best choices, and that her Clan would be better off without her. If she hadn't been born a mage there was no way that _anyone_ would ever have looked twice at her. Even the _one_ thing she was certain about, her will to restore the Eluvian and return the lost culture and knowledge of her ancestors to her people, had not worked out like she'd hoped. She'd been so certain of herself, and so stubborn about it... now Merrill wondered how she was ever going to be confident about _anything_ ever again.  
  
 _If the one thing I was willing to risk everything for turned out to be the biggest mistake I ve ever made, how can I think that I'll ever make the right decision about anything anymore?_ Merrill wondered at herself.  
  
It had taken the intervention of the Goddess Mythal herself to steer Merrill off her path. How was she supposed to feel confident in herself when she'd clearly been so wrong?  
  
 _Oh stop it Merrill!_ she chided herself. _You literally faced down a demon and made it bow before you without falling for any of its tricks this time. You performed the Tehn'shii ritual without any aid from the other Keepers. You even revived the aku'zhan, which is another peice of lost Lore you can give to your people. That's not **all** bad._  
  
So maybe the problem wasn't with _her_ , exactly, but rather the fact that she didn't quite fit the mold of what a Keeper was. She wasn't so good with people, and she didn't quite have that leadership ability a Keeper needed, and her decision-making skills needed a _lot_ of work... Maybe Fenris was right after all, she couldn't even lead herself most days, how was she supposed to lead her Clan? Her usual doubts about herself ate away the small, momentary burst of confidence she'd felt in her recent achievements. She'd felt when she'd faced down the demon that part of her battle was about claiming her right to believe in herself and her abilities.  
  
 _If that's true, it seems I won that battle but the war is still going on,_ Merrill thought to herself.  
  
It was usually times like this when she liked to visit her Keeper and talk about what was on her mind, but she wasn't really in the mood for groundless reassurances. After all, it wasn't like her Keeper didn't have a reason for wanting Merrill to pretend to be confident, even if she wasn't; children of mage talent among the Dalish weren't exactly growing on trees, and Merrill was already fully trained in the lore of the Dalish. Marethari had a vested interest in keeping her fully-trained heir within the Clan. Merrill was far from convinced that she was what was best for Sabrae Clan, especially now that she knew that the world outside of the Dalish "bubble" was far mor complicated and frought with dangers than even most other Keepers seemed willing to admit. If the Keepers, with all of their wisdom and power, didn't truly know what was going on, what good was someone like Merrill? Right then she felt she needed something to _do_ , something she was good at, to take her mind off her multitude of inadequacies.  
  
 _And I think it should be something that even Mister Mage-Hater can't deny is a good and useful thing. I'm getting awfully tired of him throwing my bad choices back in my face..._  
  
Merrill paused to consider for a long moment and the memory of her offer to go out gathering the herbs to make basic medicines for Anders flashed brilliantly in her mind as a possible solution for the cure to her sudden depression. It didn't require magic, was undeniably useful, and Merrill had always been rather _good_ at it. She rose to her feet, looked around to make certain that the children were being adequately monitored by the three-fold pair of wives who had come to the small pond to do thier washing. Reassured that the children were watched over, Merrill headed back to the main encampment to find Anders.  
  
"Ah! Here you are Anders!" Merrill said, after she'd found him a bit at loose ends and admiring a woodworker and his apprentice working on a bow of ironwood.  
  
"I wasn't aware I was missing," Anders replied, scratching aimlessly in the dirt with the tip of his staff.  
  
"I promised you medicines earlier," she said with no preamble. "I know several good gathering places around here. If you want, I'm not doing anything right now and I'd be happy to show them to you so you'll know where they are. You can come back to them later, or send some grateful patients out to gather more for you, so you can replentish your stock of medicines when your own are running low. I know how dearly they cost in the city, if you can harvest them yourself, you won't have to go to the extra expense of buying medicines from the merchants."  
  
"Oh! Well thank-you," he said brightly. "Most people guard their resource-spots like gold mines, you know."  
  
"That seems silly," Merrill said. "You only ever help people, Anders. Witholding good medicinal supplies from you seems like I'd be inadvertently doing harm to a lot of people that I don't know who will one day need them. You're practically my lethaliin anyway. I'd never hold back a needed resource from my Clan, and I wouldn't from you either."  
  
"Well, kindness like yours is sadly rare," Anders said getting up to follow her out of camp. "Particularly when there's sovereigns to be made."  
  
Merrill paused at her Keeper's aravell, where her Keeper was weaving at a blanket surrounded by a circle of women knitting away for an expected baby. She popped her head in and told her Keeper she was going out into the woods with Anders to gather raw medicinal herbs and asked her if there was anything in particular the clan was in need of. Her Keeper paused in her weaving to consider, then rattled off a long list of various parts of plants and some minerals that they were currently low on. Merrill repeated the list verbatim to her teacher to see if it was correct then pulled out two tall woven baskets with carry-harnesses attached so the tall baskets could be carried like packs. The baskets were as tall as Anders from his waist to the back of his head, and they had herb-gathering kits strapped to the outsides of them.  
  
Under the familiar canopy of green, with the sun dappling the ground and the familiar scents of the woodlands around her, Merrill felt her spirits lifting again. There was something about being in the wild woods, doing things that she knew could be of nothing but benefit to other people, that made her feel light and happy. She sang a cheerful song she knew of in ancient elvhen, one of the songs that was passed down to help her people remember how to pronounce thier native tongue, as she fairly skipped along the way.  
  
"Well, you seem all smiles now," Anders remarked. "Earlier you seemed... a bit morose. Well, morose for _you_ anyway."  
  
"I just had gotten done talking with Fenris," she replied.  
  
"That'll do it," Anders muttered. "I swear, that elf's a worse wet blanket than the Tower Templars. He should join the Order, he'd fit right in."  
  
"Ooooh, doon't give him any ideas," Merrill admonished.  
  
Neither of them needed to say out loud how well they could imagine that particular carreer path suiting their moody fellow Companion. The silent look of wry amusment they shared said it all about how they could imagine him delighting in hunting down apostate mages to his hearts content and locking them away, lecturing them all on the evils of magic and demons and being mages.  
  
"Well, it might be good for him," Anders said humorously. "He'd certainly brood a lot less. Give him something to do with his free time anyway. But... well, the world needs less Templars in it, not more. Whatever it was he said to you, you shouldn't let it get to you."  
  
"I'm not really qualified to lead my people, and now everyone _knows_ it," Merrill said slumping over in defeat, her good mood of a moment before having evaporated and her doubts coming back to plague her.  
  
"Hn, that man certainly knows how to stick a dagger in a soft underbelly, I'll give him that," Anders said wryly.  
  
"It's not Fenris's fault I'm not cut out to lead and that I've made such rotten choices with my life," Merrill said.  
  
Anders raised both of his eyebrows in bemused disbelief. Merrill had alway rather liked his face... for a Shem anyway. It wasn't handsome in the elven sense of aesthetic, but Merrill thought that it held character. His eyes were kind, if careworn. Merrill had always thought he looked sad, as though he had burdens he didn't quite let anyone else share in and it had cast a stamp of age on his otherwise youthful features. Despite his usual melacholy, his features had a cast to them as though they were accustomed more to smiling than dolor.  
  
"Oh, you think _you've_ made bad choices?" he said dryly. "Well, the blood mage thing I'll give you, but it can't be any worse than some of my own, and I've made some real _doozies_. Look, do you want to hear some advice from the voice of experience?"  
  
"I suppose I could use some," Merrill said. "There's no-one else I trust more than my Keeper in the whole world, but I don't think this is something she can advise me about."  
  
"I think you might be surprised on that," he said. "I'm sure that at one point she was a young First like yourself, uncertain of herself."  
  
"That's not quite the problem..." Merrill said hesitantly.  
  
"Well, why don't you tell me what you feel the problem is," Anders encouraged her.  
  
"I took up blood magic as a means to an end," she began slowly, feeling her way hestitantly to what she wanted to articulate. "You know about the Eluvian, and how I wanted to restore it in order to bring back my people's rightful heritage. You also know how well all that turned out. When I was doing all of this, I didn't have any doubt that I was doing the right thing. I just _knew_ could handle the dangers without falling prey to them, I thought that the other Keepers were all just too afraid and narrow-minded to do what needed doing. I thought that if I could do just this _one thing_ then it would make everything worth it in the end. I just had to be brave enough and strong enough to be willing to sacrifice myself for the sake of my people. That's what I thought... and I was wrong. I believed in this with my whole _heart_ Anders, and it was a foolish hope. That makes me a fool. How can a fool lead the Clan? How can I ever trust in myself again? I've been wrong before, what if I'm wrong again?"  
  
Anders stared for a long moment, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.  
  
"Maker," he said with a dry chuckle. "You don't ask the easy questions do you?"  
  
"You don't look like someone who's ever backed down from something, just because it was difficult."  
  
They'd reached a shady glen that had a large concentration of the particular herb they were looking for and they both paused to gather. They were careful to gather only from healthy plants that could afford to loose their parts without any ill effects, or would even thrive from a little careful pruning. Their kits came with sharp pruning knives and small jars of a sealant made from sap and resin to seal off the cuts they made so that bugs would not infest the plants and destroy them.  
  
"You give me waay too much credit, I'm afraid," Anders said a little sadly. "I'm not a strong as I should be, not _nearly_ as much as I need to be."  
  
"You should fall in love Anders," Merrill reccommended. "That'll make you stronger than anything! All the stories say so."  
  
"Are you in love?" he said, with a smile of amusement.  
  
Merrill felt another wave of regret sneak up on her. This was a bit of a sore point with her, because she'd have _liked_ the opportunity to fall in love, but her Goddess had already chosen her mate _for_ her and he wasn't at all what Merrill would have liked for herself if given the choice. Of course, she'd been so wrapped up in her mirror and the magic that she hadn't really given any thought to what she liked in a man beyond "prefferably Dalish, and handsome, and kind."  
  
"No," she said a bit sadly. "But that's not the point."  
  
"I suppose it isn't," Anders agreed. "Well, I've made my share of rash decisions and mistakes that I'm still paying for. I suppose I can say this about it; don't let it stop you. It's easy to keep looking back on all you've done and find every way you regret it or would have done things differently, but in the end you can't change it, the only thing you can do is go on from where you are. Really, if you ask me regrets are a waste of your time, they're the past crippling you in the present and they'll consume you if you let them. So don't let them."  
  
"It's that simple, is it?" she asked, impressed by his sagacity.  
  
"Well, to hear me talk about it you'd think so," he said with a rueful smile. "But no. Not for me anyway. But you're something _special_ Merrill. You have an optimism and a belief in the goodness of the world that I think will let you move on from your mistakes and learn from them instead of letting them drag you down."  
  
"Doubts aside, I still don't think I'm suitable to lead Sabrae Clan," Merrill said.  
  
"Then maybe you should talk with your Keeper about doing something else," Anders said seriously.  
  
"But... that's a what a First _is_ , I mean, what else would all these I've years spent learning the complete lore of the Dalish have been for, if not so that one day I would become Keeper?"  
  
"Well, all of that ancient Dalish Lore certainly isn't doing you _or_ your Clan a whole lot of good rotting away in Kirkwall," he pointed out logically. "And your Keeper seems pretty healthy to me. There's still time to explore your options."  
  
"Perhaps you're right Anders," Merrill said, feeling a little more hopeful and less glum. "I should talk with my Keeper about it."


	21. Chapter 21

They spent the morning searching out all of the spots in and around Sundermount where Merrill knew that herbs for healing could be found. By the time they returned to camp, both their gathering baskets and the string-bags for carrying extra were bulging with their finds.  
  
"It's good that there's two clans in camp right now," Merrill said. "Normally we'd only have the one still for making the alcohol for the tinctures but now we have two. With two mages here we can speed up the fermentation process more easily," merrill said. "When you first put together your... well whatever it is you're distilling, whether its hops or potatoes or wheat or barley or grapes and so oon. Normally it takes a few day s to make--"  
  
"I know about it, a variant of entropy magic," Anders said wryly with rare humor in his eyes. "The Circle Tower was rife with homemade stills you know. A good number of Enchanters were very proud of their alcohol. Oh, they _claimed_ it was for medicinal purposes of cource, but... well... everyone sort of _knew_ and looked the other way. After all, who could blame them for finding a way to escape their prison for a while?"  
  
"Oh, well good then, since you know it, you can help me out with this," Merrill said cheerfully. "I'll just ask to borrow the still from Alerion Clan, I'm sure Keeper Tenuviel won't mind us using it for the evening. We've a great deal here to work with."  
  
Keeper Tenuviel did not mind, despite that it was a shemlen who would be using it.Marethari and Keeper Tenuviel both wandered over from thier own fire to the fire near the area that Anders and Merrill had claimed for their work and sat down, both working at a small craft for thier respective Clans and quietly discussing shop from time to time while keeping an eye on the work that the two younger mages were doing to make medicines.

Merrill and Anders brought in fresh water from the nearby spring and poured in the grains and other ingredients they planned to make thier liquor from. They added in honey, which was high in sugars, to aid the fermentation process. Merrill threw fireballs at the woodpile under her still, pushing more magic at it to heat it up quickly, while Anders gestured, concentrating, and the mixture slowly started to bubble and steam.  
  
'Wow!" Merrill said, impressed. " _There's_ a trick! How did you do that?"  
  
"Subtlety, my dear Dalish, subtlety," he said with a bit of pardonable pride. "You can't always find a convenient tub filled up with water and a nearby fireplace every time you want a hot bath, you know. If you learn the trick of heating water where it is, you never go without."  
  
"I'll have to steal that technique," Merrill said.  
  
They both started their respective entropy spells, the Circle-taught and the Dalish techniques being so similar to one another that there was no differnce worth mentioning. Moments later the ripe smell of fermented hops and other grains wafted from the pots. They both simlutaneously began boiling the mixture in earnest to reach the boiling points for alcohol to vaporize and travel to the lyne arm and attached cooling coil.  
  
"You know we usually use ice spells as opposed to the coil," Merrill remarked.  
  
"But the copper in the coil helps to isolate out the less savory chemicals from the end product," Anders argued.  
  
"We have copper bits on the lid," Merrill said. "I wonder where Tenuviel got a cooling coil, seems like a terrible waste of space. When you travel as much as the Dalish, every inch in your aravell is precious."  
  
"A bandit raid, I believe he said, da'len," Marethari said.  
  
The boiling and vaporization process would take some time, and since the temperatures were regulated by their magic, the two mages could let it go on undisturbed and turn their attention to other things. Merrill had gathered the fruit of the chae-tree, claiming that it made the very best incredient for balms and salves.  
  
"I don't see why you wanted to collect all of these funny looking fruit, they're poisonous you know."  
  
"Only if you're silly enough to eat them raw," Merrill said. "Don't they have chea butter lotions and salves among the shem?"  
  
"We use widowsease or beeswax," Anders replied. "Or on rare occasions dragons oil."  
  
"Well, it doesn't make an oil, its a bit thicker than that, but its got a lovely texture, so smooth without feeling waxy or greasy. I'm making some for you-know-who's little lyrium problem."  
  
"Let's make him smell like roses!" Anders suggested brightly, a sudden sense of mischeif making him smile.  
  
Oooh," Merrill said, in amusement. "I like roses. But before that, help me with the oil first, please."  
  
Merrill had bartered some trinkets she'd liberated from a cave-spider to the children of the Clan for them to go and gather kek-seeds, which could be used to make oil. Oil could be used to make salves and essences. Merrill and Anders both rather enjoyed the process of roasting the kek-seeds in preparation to extract the oil, which entailed sprinkling them all out onto a flat stone then letting loose a long, even stream of fire at them. There was of course, the inevitable contest between mages over which of them could produce the best fire. The children of the Clan all seemed pleased to actually get to watch real magic being performed. Once the seeds were roasted they were swept into a large pottery urn with a spigot in the bottom. The two mages used a gravity-spell to press a flat stone down on top of the seeds in the urn until the oils started flowing out of the spigot into a waiting pot beneath the urn. When they were through, the mages managed to press several large pots of oil for them to work with.  
  
"Well, that was a bit of work," Ander said wiping his brow after an extended period of casting. "Did you bring me out here just to help you make oil?"  
  
"Oh stop fussing," Merrill admonished him. "We've just gotten started. The alcohol must finish distilling before we can begin making all the tinctures you'll want to have on hand for your work. So while we have time, we should make some chae-butter so you can have some for burn salves and the like."  
  
Chae butter, as it turned out, came from the pits of fruits about the size of a plum. Merrill showed Anders how the women of the Clan removed the pits from the pulp of the fruit. Then they used a heating spell to dry the outer shell and. Merrill had fun casting her stonefist spell to crack them and they cleared the now partly chrushed nuts from the shells. The crushed nuts were then roasted, which caused the oils to seep out of them.

"usually," merrill told him as they both applied long streams of fire evenly across the crushed nuts until the oils in them started to turn them into a paste-like substance. "This process takes days of heating it evenly over a fire by the women of the clan. You have to keep stirring it carefully so the paste doesn't burn."

The roasted shea coasrely-ground nut-paste was then ground into a finer paste that Merrill showed him how to knead.

"Kneading it agitates the oils," she explained when he asked her why they were doing that. "Now we just add some hot water. Slowly and careful now."

Merrill asked anders to bring the temperature of the mixture slowly to just below a boil, so that oils would separate out and float to the top like curds on milk. These were carefully skimmed off as the valued product. At last the chae butter was put into another pot, set over coals, for a long, slow boil to evaporate out the water leaving the smooth, thick chae butter to cool. Between the two of them it took only hours rather than the days that the labor-intensive process usually took, and by the time they were done separating out the chae butter the alcohol had finally finished distilling so they could move on to their tinctures.

When Merrill started sorting the fresh herbs they'd gathered, her Keeper took a more immediate interest and began to quiz her young student on what herbs were used for which ailment, and what ratios of mixed herbs were reccommended for a particular set of complaints. The quiz led to a discussion and swapping of recipes between Anders and Merrill about herb-lore and medicinal recipes. In that Anders was something of a fount of knowledge as far as preparation techniques for medicine went. His clinic was poor, and his magic for Healing was finite so he couldn't afford to use it for every cut and bruise, so over the years his knowledge o medicinal recipes had expanded. Merrill's strength lay more in herbcraft and where to find the ingredients in the wild. She did have a few uses for different parts of the plants that Anders had never heard of, and likewise Anders knew recipes for herbal mixtures for ailments Merrill was unfamiliar with.  
  
"Theres a lot of mages even within a Circle who will only learn one of two recipes for any given complaint and they will stick to that like holy scripture," Anders said as he and Merrill sorted through their herbs. "I like to be more flexible. For one thing, I'm generally poor and not usually spoiled for choice as far as my ingredients go, there's usually only a few set amount of herbs that I can regularly find for a reasonable price. But I've learned that not every person responds to medicines the same way, sometimes what works just fine for some people will work strangely or not at all for others so if you have at least a little variety on hand you can still help the people for whom the ordinary recipies don't work."  
  
The two of them set to work pouring their blends of fresh herbs into cheesecloths which were suspended drum-like over the mouths of sanitized jars. They then then poured in the alcohol they'd just finished distilling over the herbs until the jars were full. Normally a person would then wait about two moon-phases for the herbs to steep into a tincture... but they were mages so they just used entropy spells to hurry the infusion along. Once the alcohol had been infused with the herbs, they strained out the herbal particulates, then squeezed on the cheescloth-wrapped herbs into the tincture to collect every possible drop they could. The jars were then labeled carefully with names and ingredients.  
  
"It's wonderful to have all of this on hand and for free," Anders said, looking at the long line of foot-high jars of herbal tinctures they'd just made in the process of an hour. "But I have to wonder how I'm supposed to carry all this home."  
  
"I can help you out with that, at least a little," Merrill assured him.  
  
Merrill then showed Anders her trick for super-concentrating the herbal tincture by using magic to pull out some of the alcohol, causing the mixture to concentrate and grow almost syrupy. Together they condensed the tinctures in to concentrated tinctures that only took half the amount of jars.  
  
"Mind how much you use," Merrill cautioned. "My Keeper always said that a little of this goes a _long_ way. I hope you don't mind giving me a hand with the oil infusion for Fenris' salve, I have the ingredients here, it won't take too long to put them together."  
  
Merrill was mixing her ratio of herbs together to prepare them for infusion when they heard a choking cough from behind them. They both turned around to see Fenris nearly doubled over with the ladle they'd used for the distilled alcohol in his hand.  
  
"Fenris!" Merrill scolded. "Don't _drink_ it! That's for the tinctures."  
  
"What sort of void-spawned demon-brew are you planning on killing people with, witch?!" Fenris demanded, his eyes still a bit teary from trying to down the potent distilation.  
  
Anders chuckled.  
  
"First time with the hard stuff eh, Fenris?" he teased a little. "Don't feel bad, everyone makes that face the first time."

"I heard the other elves say that they wanted to drink some if there was any left over," Fenris said, sounding disgruntled. It burns, and tastes terrible. Who in their right minds would want to drink this?"  
  
"I just use it for tinctures," Merrill said. "Though I've seen people after a glass or two, those who were still conscious were quite inebriated. They had the worst hangovers the next morning."  
  
While they'd been talking to him, Merrill and Anders had quickly infused the herbal blend for Fenris's salve into the kek-seed oil and were wringing it out. Merrill then condensed it down and made another batch to follow.  
  
"Since you're here Fenris," she called over. "Go and sniff those two small jars there on the end and tell me which one you like better."  
  
Fenris eyed the items she'd specified warily, like he thought it might contain some sort of poison, or something that might jump right up and bite him.  
  
 _Well if he's going to insist on messing about in one's preparation area when they're making medicine, then he darned well should be wary!_ she thought partly in exasperation.  
  
All he met with were two pleasant-smelling liquids. Merrill had taken his preferrences into account and harvested a few herbs that would add a pleasant smell to the salve as well as being helpful. The first contained a refreshing scent with juniper, cedar and verbena, the second bottle was a spicier scent with sandalwood, vanilla and lotus musk.  
  
"Which one do you like better?" she asked.  
  
"Both are pleasant," he replied with a shrug. "But I am not one of those Orlesian men who douse themselves in scent."  
  
His tone implied the same thing that _most_ people implied about Orlesian men who doused themselves in scent; that the practice was effeminate.  
  
"It's for your salve," Merrill informed him. "I suppose since you like them both, I'll just make a batch of each for you. That should last a long while, and I'll leave the recipe with Anders of course. You'll probably have to buy the ingredients but I'm sure he'd make the salve for you if you asked nicely."  
  
"Yes Fenris, ask nicely," Anders said with levity in his tone, clearly relishing the thought of the grumpy elf owing him a favor. Fenris scowled at him.  
  
Merrill used her entropy spells to quickly infuse Fenris's herbal mixture into the oil, squeezing the herbs to get most effective medicine. The herb-infused oil was then added to one of the pots of melted chae butter, along with the scented essences she'd made for Fenris, to make his salve.

"There!" Merrill said, holding up one of the pots proudly for Fenris to see, clearly hoping he'd praise her. He looked back blankly at her.

"Oh... I suppose you'd need me to label that for you. Of course you would," Merrill added, certain that the reason Fenris failed to have any reaction at all to her efforts was because he didn't know that the pot was for him because it didn't have his name on it.

Merrill pulled out a long narrow box with several brushes fitted into loops on the underside of the lid. The main body of the box held a small porcelain pot, a tiny spoon, a smooth flat stone that was angled strangely, and several powedery black stones. Merrill ground some of the black powder from the stones into the small pot, spooned in a bi tof water and mixed it around, dipped in the brush, smeared it delicately against the stone and paused.  
  
"Keeper, I already have 'fen', but which one should I use for 'ris'?" Merrill called over her shoulder. "The character that means 'song' doesn't really suit him, and the only other one I can think of off the top of my head is the one that indicates a dwelling place for several families but isn't quite a village."  
  
"That is rikke, da'lenn," Keeper Marethari replied. "Ris has seven distinct characters. You've been living among the Shem too long, don't tell me you've forgotten all you've learned."

marethari's tone implied that she expcted her student to produce the seven known characters for ris or there would be a lecture. Merrill abruptly got flustered and nervous, clearly wracking her brain for the answer.  
  
"Um, right... ris, ris... Uh, there's... the character for trout!"  
  
"Good, and?" Marethari prompted.  
  
"Um... to inspire?"  
  
"To inspire how da'lenn?" Keeper Marethari pressed, sounding precisely like any teacher might.  
  
"Um... to be so diligent as to be an excellent example to others?"  
  
"Correct, now what else?"  
  
"..." Merrill paused, clearly wracking her brain. "Soup?"  
  
"That's rin, not ris."  
  
Merrill closed her eyes, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her brush moved over a rough peice of bark-paper. Neat, delicate strokes were written precisely.  
  
"A company on pilgrimage," she listed slowly but with growing confidence. "To be dedicated. A thorny weed. One who is small in size. Ooh, what's the last?"  
  
Merethari took the brush and delicately made a very complex symbol with many brush strokes. Merrill looked at it, helplessly; clearly unable to remember what it meant.  
  
"Wanderer, da'lenn," Marethari said. "The final known character for ris is wanderer."  
  
"Hmm..." Merrill said, examining the strange looking she'd written.  
  
She circled a few and held up the tree bark-paper to show to the white-haired elf with a brilliant, expectant smile.  
  
"Which do you like better Fenris," she asked enthusiastically, pointing to each as she named it. "Dedicated, to be an example, or wanderer?"  
  
"Let's pick trout!" Anders suggested.  
  
"Anders!" Merrill chided him gently.  
  
"Well I suppose the thorny bush one does suit him better," the former circle mage said, completely unabashed.  
  
"Danarius called me little wolf," Femris said in a voice that was flat and emotionless.  
  
"There's nothing little about you," Merrill scoffed, brushing aside the suggestion with a wave of her hand. "You're the tallest elf I know! Besides I don't care one jot for your former master's opinion in any of this. Come and look at the characters."  
  
Fenris did as she asked with grudging reluctance. The brush strokes on the paper were clearly as meaningless to him as the tattoos on the face of a Dalish.  
  
"They all look like chicken scratch to me," he said disparagingly.  
  
"Then which meaning do you like better?" Merrill asked him with a hopeful smile.  
  
He glared at her, unaccountably irritated with her well-meaning attempts to pick out a name for him in what was clearly the written language of the elves, what little of it was left of it anyway.  
  
"Pick whichever you like!" he snapped. "It doesn't matter anyway!"  
  
Merrill looked at him, hurt.  
  
"But I just..." she started.  
  
He stomped off angrily.  
  
"What's his problem?" Anders asked watching him storm off in a huff.  
  
"I do not believe, da'lenn,"Marethari said serenely in the silence. "That they allow the elves in Tevinter to learn to read, and certainly not their native tongue. It is likely a sore spot for him."  
  
"Oh..." Merrill said in a subdued voice. "Maybe I'll just put a little picture on each jar instead so he knows which is which."  
  
"He could just smell them," Anders pointed out logically. "The ingredients were the same right?"  
  
"Oh, of course, how silly of me," Merrill said sadly, clearly very hurt.

All that capable confidence that had shown up while Merrill had been gathering herbs and making oils and salves and tinctures evaporated from her features and she looked rather like a puppy someone had left out in the rain.

"I guess he doesn't need a lable after all," she mumbled. "It's just habit I suppose, when one makes a batch of medicine, one always lables the jar. I just thought... I thought he'd like the opportunity to make his own name..."  
  
"It's a nice thought da'lenn," Marethari comforted her. "But you may have simply stepped in a bee-hive with this one. Best to leave it lie."  
  
"Yes, Keeper," Merrill said a bit sadly.  
  
Keeper Marethari looked worried as she said  
  
"The Delegations from the other Clans will arrive for the convocation tomorrow," she said. "You have made your choices for good and for ill, are you prepared to face the fate they have chosen for you?"  
  
"I am, Keeper," Merrill said. "My choices to leave my Clan and restore to the eluvian were ones that I made with full knowledge that there would be consequences for them. That I hoped to gain good from dark roots does not signify. I have faced down the Audacity of Sundermount, the convocation does not frighten me as much as it would have before this."  
  
"I hope your new strength will see you though, da'lenn," marethari said. "And may Mythal's mercy be in their hearts for you."  
  
Merrill and Anders finished making the last of their tinctures and infusions just as the sun finished setting for the day. Merrill placed the hebal remedies that she had prepared for her clan in her Keeper's aravell and helped Anders finish jarring and labeling the herbal preparations he would take back to Kirkwall when he left. It was a nice change, having Anders converse kindly with her, the way he often did with Hawke or Varric or Isabella... or really, any of their set that wasn't Fenris, her or Sebastion. Now that he wasn't being so hard on her about the demons and blood magic, the Healer was surprisingly easy to get along with. There were times when his usual aura of concentrated melancholy lifted for a bit and he could be humorous and quite charming.


	22. Chapter 22

Fenris found that he slept what passed for soundly for him that night. In the camp of the Dalish there were ever-present armed patrols guarding the camp and its inhabitants from encroachment by outsiders and anything that might pass for a threat. In addition to the armed patrols who guarded their people vigilantly, he was further surrounded by sleeping elves, many of whom, like him, kept weapons near to hand and sensitive ears perked to possible dangers. He was literally guarded by an entire settlement of people who would fight whatever enemies came before them.  
  
 _:The female mage is certainly daft to give up such safety,:_ Fenris thought the next morning as the ger he had slept in the night previous emptied out.  
  
The food the clan had was all shared around to every member, none went hungry n a Dalish Clan for all were regarded as a form of kin. Chores were shared out by young and old, men and women sang together as they did the washing. The group of children who had turned him into a templar target the day before were all being educated in the tales of their heathen gods by the wisest "hahren" (which, he learned, was the elven word for elder).  
  
The camp was unusually abuzz with rumor and speculation that morning. Fenris listened passively as he sat quietly down to breakfast at a nearby fire and a wooden plate piled with some strangely spiced concoction of egg and cheese rolled in a thin, flat shell along with a small stack of fluffy thin cakes that the Dalish made on flat iron griddles placed over the fire and topped with a sweet syrup (made of tree-sap of all things!). It was delicious and there was a quite enough to go around.  
  
The hot topic of conversation for the morning was naturally speculation about what, precisely, the First of Sabrae Clan would be charged with at the convocation, followed by what sort of atonement the convocation would demand of her. The speculation on the atonement varied from being made to make a perfect copy of every single book of Dalish Lore in all of the Clans to being made to venture out into the wilderness unarmed and alone to find some near-mythic Ancient Elven ruin that had eluded attempts to locate it for centuries. One person thought that she might be ordered to venture into the very heart of the Tevinter Imperium to retrieve some relic left behind in a hidden ruin there at the fall of Arlathan.  
  
"Could they do that?" Fenris demanded. "Send her in alone to the Imperium, I mean."  
  
The elf who said it looked over at him, surprised to hear an outsider interject in their conversation.  
  
"Aye," the elf confirmed with a nod. "It's not impossible, lad. We figure the lass has been out of the Clan and living among the Shem for long enough to know how to blend in with them--"  
  
"Faugh!" Fenris said scornfully. "The witch no more blends in with the city-folk than does one of your halla in a herd of goats. Sending her to Tevinter would be tantamount to sending her into slavery. She won't last half an hour there."  
  
"It is worth more than the life and freedom of one person, this atrifact we seek," one fellow rebutted firmly against Fenris's opinion.  
  
Fenris had not seen him around camp the last day or two, if he had he certainly would have remebered him if only for his clothes alone. The new elf was dressed a long, butterfly-sleeved tunic of many layers of silk that changed colors with the way the light hit it; red and burnt orange and gold. Each layer was cut to reveal the one beneath it and the shape of the cuts on the edges resembled leaves. The trousers he wore under it were of leather as soft and supple as cloth, with the outlines of leaves tooled in and edged with gold stitching. He had calf-boots that matched. None of it looked like it had seen a hard days work, and nor did he. His face was more abtly described as beautiful rather than handsome and his light blonde hair fell down past his waist and was styles as elaborately as his clothing was. He even wore jewelry of the elegant Dalish-knotwork variety. He practically _smelled_ of aristrocrat.  
  
"And you are?" Fenris demanded, chosing to ignore the way the other two Dalish elves seated at the fire with him, put fists to their chests and bowed resectfully at the well-dressed elf.  
  
"Velerian Inisfelin of Clan Endaliron," he said as if Fenris was going to know who he was.  
  
  His tone did nothing more than earn him a long blank look from Fenris, who would have taken a contrary pleasure in denying him the recognition even if he had known him, just on sheer principal. Aside of aristrocrat, he also had prat written all over him. The elf sniffed.  
  
"A _city elf_ I see."  
  
The way he stressed city elf implied that Fenris was somehow beneath him. Fenris restrained his answering scornful snarl. He had not escaped chains and magisters in Tevinter to be treated as an inferior by one of his own people, even if the elf wasn't _truly_ one of Fenris' own. He disliked men with a sense of entitlement because of an accident of birth no matter what their stripe.  
  
"I am formerly of Tevinter," Fenris said, meeting his gaze steadily, not ashamed of his background and feeling contrarily that his strength and life experience made him _ten_ times the person this elf was as a person.  
  
The elfs attitude did seem to change a little, there was curiousity in his gaze now and a wary sort of something that might have bordered on grudging respect.  
  
"The story of your fight with the demonspawn at Sundermount has made its way around camp, Fenris, fomerly of Tevinter," Velerian noted cautiously. "I confess that I have never seen valasliin quite like yours."  
  
"They are not your Dalish markings," Fenris said flatly. "But an invention of the Tevinter Magisters, carved into my living flesh with glass knives, the lyrium-ink cauterized to my skin at boiling temperatures in a ritual so agonizing that my life before it was erased from my memory."  
  
 His announcement of the origins of his markings caught the Dalish elf off guard, as it did most people, and Fenris felt a smug sort of satisfaction at seeing the proud elf clearly at a loss for words. Fenris had seen his sort before all the time when he'd lived at his former Master's heels in the Imperium; proud, entitled self-righteous prigs who were only too happy to pull rank on anyone they thought might be lower than them in status.  
  
 _:Probably gives lipservice to the suffering of the elves while he enjoys whaever luxuries he feels whatever rank he has entitles him to,:_ Fenris sneered mentally.  
  
"Velerian-hren," Merrill said, her tone laced with surprise.

Fenris knew somehow that the term "hren" in elvish denoted a respected person and that most who could trace their lineage back through Halamshiral had the term suffixed to their name out of respect for their lineage. They were the Dalish equivalent of high noblity.  
  
As respectfully as she had once bowed to the witch Flemeth, Merrill placed a fist to her chest, and lowered her head by bending her knees, acompanied by a deep nod.  
  
"First of Sabrae Clan," he said, barely lowering his chin in acknowledgement of her quasi-bow and looking at her only from the corner of his eye, like some highborn aristocrat straight out of the upper echelons of the Imperium.  
  
"You must be here for the Convocation," she said, suddenly as nervous, awkward and flustered as ever.  
  
"I am," he said.  
  
His face was as saturnine as a presiding judge but there was a glint of interest in his eye that immediately put Fenris' back up. He did not like the man. He strode forward, deliberately placing himself between the high-born elf and his little magelet, and narrowed his eyes at the aristocrat.  
  
"Then I suppose this fact will save me the trouble of informing you later," Fenris said. "The witch will not venture into the Imperium."  
  
Merrill's face drained of all color and she looked at Fenris, wide-eyed in dismay.  
  
"That is for the Convocation to decide outsider, not you," the man informed him in a tone meant to put him into his place.  
  
"Save your theatrics, I've faced far worse than a sheltered pony-rider such as yourself can even begin to imagine," Fenris snapped back, facing him squarely.  
  
"Fenris!" Merrill hissed in near-panic. "You cannot talk to Velerian-hren in that way!"  
  
"If he plans on issuing a foolish edict I will treat him as a fool," Fenris replied not taking his eyes away from the richly dressed foreign elf.  
  
"His family can trace their blood line past Halamshiral and back to Arlathan itself," Merrill said, in a half-panicked near-hush. "He comes from the ancient Royal Family, the ducal line, and in his blood flows the blood of the ancient kings of Arlathan!"  
  
The way the prat straightened his shoulders seemed to communicate that now that Fenris was aware of the august personage gracing him with his presence he should be suitably impressed by it. Fenris let his face betray how very _un_ impressed he was with a flat scowl.  
  
"I care not whether he's decended from a king or a sheep-herder," Fenris replied to Merrill, while not taking his challenging gaze away from the elf in front of him. "You're not going, and that's final."  
  
"This Convocation and its decision have nothing to do with you outsider," Velerian replied in a tone calculated to insult. "You would do well to hold your tongue in the presence of your betters, chain-wearing flat-ear."  
  
He wasn't sure whether the hot spurt of anger came from within himself or from Merrill, for a breif heartbeat after the words had left the noble elfs lips, there was a sharp, distinct _slapping_ sound. Merrill was standing before Meserre "Blood of Ancient Kings" with her hand poised in the follow-through for a hard slap. The arrogant elven noble's head was jerked to one side. Given their relative positions it wasn't hard to guess what had just happened. Serene, naive, sometimes-too-sweet Merrill had just slapped a very highly ranked member of her own people.  
  
The entire camp, every last pointy-eared soul in it, was frozen in shock and disbelief, staring over at the scene unfolding before them.  
  
"Fenris has lived through things that would turn your hair grey to hear of it," Merrill said to Velerian in clear, coldly precise tones of barely controlled anger. "Perhaps it is _you_ who should learn to hold your tongue in the presence of _your_ betters."  
  
Fenris was surprised. Despite her mastery of battle magic, Merrill was not a woman given to violence or overt displays of temper. As many times as she had received the worst of Fenris' cutting remarks (and his tongue could be brutal when he put his mind to it) she hadn't answered back in kind. She wasn't weak or timid, but she wasn't hot-tempered either. Strangely it was Merrill's anger on his behalf that made him rethink the wisdom of his treatment of Velerian. The man was clearly an elf with a great deal of political clout. Worse still, Fenris knew that he would be on the Convocation council that would decide Merrill's fate. Given the man's ancestry and apparent status, it was not even outside the realm of possiblity that he would actually be the person who would pronounce sentence on her fate. Angering him was probably not the wisest thing to do.  
  
The elf straightened and looked back over at Merrill, with a barely suppressed snarl on his face. The littel magelet looked back at him, stubborn and unapologetic. As outside packages went, there was nothing intimidating about Merrill, whatsoever. She was built tiny, even for an elf, slender and petite of frame. Despite being a mage of not incosiderable power she didn't give off an aura of preposession, or even of mild threat as Fenris had learned to do in order to keep would-be troublemkers off his back. The wide bunny-eyes didn't help either. In short, there was nothing there that was going to make the noble think twice about using his rank and position to destroy her.  
  
 _:Of all the inconvenient...:_ Fenris thought with an internal eyeroll.  
  
He steeled himself for a fight with a quick look around guaging potential threats, possible allies and neutrals with a quick, practiced glance, and stepped up slightly behind her. Really, what else could he do? She might have landed herself in this stupid position, but she'd done so in order to try to preserve Fenris's dignity... what little he had.

_:It possible I can simply get him to back down by intimidation,:_ Fenris considered to himself. _:It seems I already have a reputation as a fighter here and he did seem respectful of the fact I escaped from Tevinter. It owuld be best if we could solve this without a fight.:_  
  
Fenris straightened, pulling his shoulders back and crossing his arms over his breastplate bringing himself to his full heigh and breadth. He was _tall_ for an elf. Danarius called him "little Wolf" but there among his own people it was now a misnomer. He was almost the average size of a human, though still somewhat small compared to that race.

_:As they say in Tevinter; in the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.:_

Fenris might be on the shorter end of the spectrum in a city filled with humans, but when among the Dalish he was easily the tallest elf in the camp. Certainly he was the better armed and armored. It was rare that Fenris got to be perceived as intimidating at first glance. Having been a slave, and also usually a little shorter than his opponent meant that Fenris had to prove his deadliness first before anyone ever gave a moments pause to think about whether they could take him in a fight. The way he pulled himself up, and sized up his opponent automatically made the little princelings attention focus on him by instinct, and the way Fenris met his eye and let him see the death that Fenris was capable of in his gaze would hopefully make him think twice about his next move. Perhaps he should not feel so pleased that the Dalish prig had to look _up_ to meet his eyes.  
  
"My sincere apologies to you and your... outlander," Velerian said stiffly with a correct nod to the mage, ostentatiously ignoring Fenris. "My comment was clearly out of line."  
  
 _:I can't believe it actually worked!:_ Fenris thought, pleased and surprised.  
  
The noble didn't look like the sort to forgive a slight, let alone apologize for it. Then Fenris narrowed his gaze in suspicion. The victory seemed entirely too easy.  
  
"Then I too apologize for my hasty action and I hope that you are unharmed, Velerian-hren," Merrill said, sounding every bit as stiff and reluctant as he had a moment ago.  
  
"Please, you must allow me to make reparations to you, First of Sabrae Clan," and here the quality of the man's gaze definitely changed.  
  
Fenris recognized the look, for it was entirely universal. It was the look that powerful men got when a potential beautiful woman was quite naive enough to fall for whatever line he was going to throw at her. This man had not apologized out of any sense of remorse for his words, he'd done so in order to clear the way to his true goal.  
  
"By inviting you to my ger for a late breakfast," the nobleman elf said smoothly.  
  
 _:Not going to happen.:_  
  
Perhaps his previous expereinces under the unkind thumbs of men of power had colored his perceptions, but Fenris figured that experiences were there to be learned from. He didn't trust Velerian, he didn't know what his agenda was, and he didn't know what part Merrill was supposed to play in it, but he was intuitively certain that noble elf did have something in mind for her. Now, whether it was merely the _usual_ sort of thing that most men had in mind for an attractive and too-trusting woman, or whether it was something more sinister, Fenris didn't know. He did know that blocking him was going to irritate the man who had insulted him.  
  
 _:So that's the way the wind blows is it?:_ Fenris thought, barely avoiding rolling his eyes.

His eyes met Anders, who had emerged from where he'd slept the night before to eat breakfast before going his own way back to Kirkwall with the medicines they'd prepared the night before. The human mage could always be counted on to stick his pointy nose into any affair he judged was his right to have a hand in, whether it was so or not. Fenris invited him to leap into the fray with a quick jerk of his head, signalling he was wanted there. The human mage quickly flanked Merrill's other side and was typically not shy about interferring.  
  
"So sorry," Anders said with false jovility. "I'm afraid I require Merrill's opinion on one of the batches of remedy we made up yesterday, seems it's gone a bit seedy. We wouldn't want anyone getting a bad batch."  
  
"But there isn't--" Merrill said, looking at Anders in consternation for telling what she knew to be a fib without any apparent reason, and maligning her medicines in the process.  
  
"If I'm going to smear that demon-salve of yours on my skin," Fenris said abruptly. "I will ensure that you test it first, witch. I'll not have any unpleasant surprises."  
  
"Oh. Well... I suppose that makes sense?" Merrill said, clearly in confusion as the two of them flanked her, staring down the interloper with serious intent.  
  
"Of course it does," Anders agreed just a little too heartilly as he grabbed one of her arms and Fenris the other. The two of them shuffled her away before she could possibly make any worse blunders.  
  
 _:And the day has only just started,:_ he thought to himself.  
  
"Great Maker, Merrill!" Anders said in exasperation once they were out of earshot of Velerian. "Didn't your Keeper warn you about guys like him?"  
  
"She instructed me in the proper courtesies due to a higher ranked member of the Dalish," Merrill said, clealry clueless as to what Anders was really getting at. "My toenails are not covered, and they're even freshly painted."  
  
"You are missing the point entirely," the mage assured her. "It's not exactly his _rank_ you need to worry about--"  
  
"It's what he wants to do to _you_ with it," Fenris backed up grimly.  
  
"Saw it in the Circle all the time," Anders agreed sourly.  
  
"And among the Magisters to those they had power over, which was practically everybody."  
  
"What a strange notion, you two," Merrill said in a perplexed, scoffing manner. "Lord Velerian is one of the few elves remaining, even among the Dalish, who can trace their bloodlines back to the royal line from Arlathan. To be singled out by him is an enormous _honor_. It's not as though he doesn't have his pick of women far more attractive than I am. Really, the notion he'd be after me for a trysting is absurd. You're both doshed if you think otherwise, he could have any woman he wants in all the Clans, why would he be interested in me?"  
  
"That might actually not be what he's after with you if what you've said about mage talent among the Dalish becoming less and less common with every passing genereation is true," Anders said. "If it is as prized among your people as I've been led to belive, then there is a very good chance that his interest in you is as a mage and not as a woman. Or it might be both, they're not mutually exclusive. All I'm saying is keep your guard up; just because he's a Dalish and a high-ranked person, doesn't mean that he _doesn't_ have a hidden agenda for you."  
  
"If anything it makes it _more_ likely," Fenris seconded. "The games with pawns and patrons that went on in the Tevinter Imperium, particularly among the Magisters, was all about power. I myself was created by my Master to be a powerful new peice on his board. You have a power he can't access, it may well be that he seeks you out because he wants a way to use what you have."  
  
At that moment Keeper Marethari entered the ger that Anders and Fenris had shuffled her into to get her away from the eyes and ears of the camp while they lectured her on her need to develop greater caution in the future.  
  
"What could Lord Velerian want with me?" Merrill wondered at both of them. "I failed to restore the Eluvian."  
  
"That the People are less one ancient artifact of immense power does not lessen your potential as a powerful mage, and a potentially powerful peice to be moved, da'len," Marethari replied. "I withheld exposing you overmuch to inter-clan politics before you left, as you were still quite young at the time."  
  
Anders and Fenris frowned, exchanging a glance.  
  
"Say, you've never mentioned it... how old _are_ you, Merrill?"  
  
"I was fifteen the year we lost Mahariel to the the Grey Wardens and the Blight," Merrill said. "And I had just turned sixteen when I left my Clan behind to live in Kirkwall. I've lived there for just under three years, so I'm almost nineteen now."  
  
"Which is certainly old enough to begin to learn the power shifts among the Dalish, especially since you, da'len, are about to find yourself neck deep among them," Mahariel said a bit crisply. "Your status as a First _would_ have granted you certain protections from the power-mongering of certain influential factions among our people. As a result of your choices and actions however, your status as First is in question. I can voice my wish for you to remain, but there are many among Sabrae Clan wo do not share my wish."  
  
"The trust of the Clan is indispensible for a Keeper," Merrill said with sad sobriety.  
  
"Indeed. And once your status as First is revoked, you will essentially be open for bids by any of these other groups who've a vested interest to collecting a rare, fully trained Dalish mage."  
  
"Why would they want her?" Fenris said doubtfully. "They all know she's practiced the dark magics, wouldn't they be as reluctant as the memebers of your clan are to have her associated with them?"  
  
"Not necessarily," Mahariel said. "Many might look at it another way. They would be more inclined to see an advantage in a mage who had worked with, and is therfore familiar with, the darker magics. Especially since it has clearly not changed the person Merrill is inside."  
  
"Set a theif to catch a theif then, is it?" Fenris said dryly. "And what call would your people have to need a mage versed in the darker sorts of magic?"  
  
"In Fereldan during the Blight, it was discovered that Keeper Zathrian, a well respected member of our people, one whom we had thought had rediscovered the secret of our ancient ancestors that allowed our people immortality, was discovered to have bound a spirit of the forest into a terrible curse," Marethari said. "Perhaps someone who was more familiar with the inimical sides of magic would have recognized the curse for what it was sooner."  
  
"Or perhaps one of these other powers among the Dalish will want to use her to make an entirely new one," Fenris replied, nodding to himself as his clever mind quickly filled in the blanks. "Perhaps to take a mage that had been freed from her duty to her clan and turn her into a weapon."  
  
"A valid concern," Marethari said nodding serenely. "And one possiblity I had come to warn her about."  
  
Marethari turned to her apprentice and spoke in serious tones.  
  
"Velerian also seeks to regain our people's lost glory, da'len, but he does not do so for the betterment of all of our people. He sees a kingdom of the elvhen returned, but only _his_ chosen people, with him at its lead.  He courts the remnants of the Emerald Knights, as well as those Clan First and Seconds and any of the Keepers he thinks may listen and urges them into a foolish war against an enemy they cannot hope to win against."  
  
"What enemy, Keeper?" Merrill asked.  
  
"The Tevinter Imperium itself," Marethari said.  
  
Fenris sucked in a breath through his teeth, wincing.  
  
"What's so wrong with that?" Merrill questioned innoscently. "They are our ancient enemy after all, is it not right that we should defeat them?"  
  
Fenris gave a dry bark of laughter and shook his head at her naivete.  
  
"What is so funny Fenris?" Merrill questioned, nettled. "I would think that you would be pleased to hear such news."  
  
"Witch," he said with belabored patience. "You have lived in a human city for _how_ many years now?"  
  
"About four," Merrill said, uncertain where he was going with it.  
  
"In that time, you must have noticed how crammed full of able-bodied people a city is," he continued, his tone erdudite, as though he were a hahren trying to impart wisdom to an especially dense young pupil.  
  
"Oh my, yes," Merrill agreed. "I still can't get over how many people they manage to stuff into every nook and cranny in the cities. It seems like I fairly trip over them all whenever I step out of the house in the alienage."  
  
"Now, if you put all of your Dalish Clans together, would you say that they have they nearly so many people as all of Kirkwall, do you think?" he added.  
  
"No, I can't say as I think so," Merrill replied honestly. "An Arlethvenn wouldn't cram a city the size of Kirkwall with elves. The alienage _maybe_ , but not the whole city."  
  
"Minrathous, the capitol city of Tevinter, is three times the size of Kirkwall. It has defenses capable of holding off invading armies, and is home to the first three legions of the Tevinter Imperium's Armed Forces," Fenris informed her patiently. "Now what does that tell you?"  
  
"That it might not be wise to go picking a fight with them?" Merrill guessed.  
  
"Very good," he congratulated her dryly. "As annoying as I find all you Dalish, there is something about the way that you lot have refused to surrender your pride that is not so very bad, even if you all do tend to be a bit prattish about it. I would not like to see all of the Dalish people end up in Imperium chains. And that's what'll happen if you take on the Tevinter Legions."  
  
"My people can fight, Fenris," Merrill defended hotly. "All of us are trained in the Vir Tahnendhal."  
  
"You Dalish, you're _not_ an army," he rebutted. "You have young children with you, and elders. If your little princeling takes away all of your able-bodied fighters to go and fight his war there won't be any left to care for the ones who need it. It would be the end of the Dalish as a people."  
  
"Your man is right da'len," Marethari seconded quickly. "The Keepers have always had to speak of caution and the need to keep to the wild wood and out of the human's sight in order to continue our ways. Always before the Keeper's voice has led the council and thus the Clans, but Velerian would change all of that in pursuit of his own agenda."  
  
"What does he want with me?" Merrill asked in puzzlement.  
  
"A Dalish mage," Marethari said gravely. "One that has been trained as a Keeper, one proven to have a great deal of power at her disposal, one who is already practiced in battle, would be perceived as an enormous asset to an ordinary fighter. Until now the Keeprs and our apprentices have rejected his requests to fight alongside the army he wishes to raise, if he could claim the support of even one Dalish mage, I believe that more fighters would loose whatever reluctance they might have at the thought of facing a battle without a mage on thier side and join his cause. Having you as a mascot would be percieved as bringing some legitimacy to his claims that the Dalish have a chance of defeating the Tevinter Imperium."  
  
"What about the Imperium's war with the Qunari?" Merrill spoke next. "Fenris says they've been fighting it for the last several decades. Surely this had weakned their armies?"  
  
"Not so," Fenris rebutted flatly. "If anything it has made them stronger. Every soldier in the Imperium is a veteran of many battles, their armies run like well oiled Dwarven machina, and every Magister assigned to the field is a practiced battlemage with the lives of as many slaves at their disposal as will ensure them a victory. They are accustomed to fighting an enemy that is both numerically superior and physically impressive. In short, if you would see the last of your so-called "True Elves" in chains, then by all means encourage this to little war with the Imperium."  
  
"Velerian's voice on the council gains more support by the year," Marethari said. "The young who do not understand vast numbers that they will be taking on in their fight gather at his call, encouraged by visions to retaking our homeland and freeing our people at last."  
  
"Who says it's an impossible dream?" Merrill demanded. "Granted, taking them all on in a straight fight is probably not the wisest thing to go doing but... I want to help them, the Tevinter Elves. It seems wrong to enjoy so much freedom with the rest of my people trapped under the rule of others."  
  
"Your good heart and compassion do you credit da'len, as they always have. However, this war that Velerian wishes will be the end of our people if it is allowed to happen. He will attempt to sway you to his side by preying on your compassion and your desire to help the elvhen, and I believe that he will attempt to coerce you into aiding his mad dream if you will not help him willingly. Be on your guard and do not support him."  
  
"What about you, Fenris?" Merrill asked, turning to him. "What do you think?"  
  
In truth, for all that Fenris advised strongly against the idea of the Dalish taking on the Imperium, a samll part of him was pleased to see that there were so many that disliked the Dalsih practice of keeping out of the way of the humans, and who wanted to take the fight to his enemy. He felt an unexpected sense of kinship with a people who so clearly considered the Imperium an unalloyed enemy as he did, who saw thier practices with regards to slavery and thier use of blood magic as the evils they were. It was too bad that allowing them to have the war that some of them actually seemed to want would destroy them. He might not care for the Dalish much; their smug sense of superiority and the way they clung to a culture and glory long since past, along with their refusal to live in the present could get annoying, but he liked their pride and independence. He would not have an entire culture wiped out to feed one elf's sense of vainglory.  
  
"It's nice to see that your people are willing to leave thier forests and do something," he replied honestly. "But I cannot say as I feel it would be a wise move at this time. If you think the Imperium is bad, believe me when I say that as evil as they are, they're actually the lesser of two. The Qunari adhere rigidly to their Qun, and if there are any dissenters to the message of their Qun demands, they are quickly reeducated. They _call_ it freedom but in truth it can be a slavery more wreched than the one under the Imperium. The war that the Tevinter fights against the Qunari ensures that they do not gain a foothold in Thedas, I would not distract them from that fight and risk invasion by a force that would see every elf, human and dwarf in all of these lands under the rule of the Qun."  
  
Merrill nodded, slowly, clearly digesting what everyone was telling her. Fenris was surprised by the fact that she seemed to be giving his opinion as much weight, if not more, than she did her Keeper's. He could tell by the oblique look that Marethari gave him from the corner of her eye that this was not lost on her either.  
  
"I _still_ want to help somehow," Merrill murmured sadly. "I was willing to risk everything for the eluvian, and clearly I was mistaken in that, but it doesn't erase my desire to aid the elvhen in whatever way I can. Surely, there must be _something_ I can do."  
  
"Lead your people wisely, da'len, when it is your time to be Keeper."  
  
"But that only helps Sabrae Clan, and don't misunderstand, my Clan is important, but I've spent time in the alienage in Kirkwall, I've seen how they live there and I've heard stories of these things called Purges. The lord of the city can, if he so wills it, order a "culling" of the elves in the alienage as though they were no more important than cattle or sheep and no-one calls it murder or genocide. Through Fenris I've come to know the evils that the elves that still live in chains in the Imperium are forced to undergo, and no-one helps _them_ either. Should I just let it go? It's clear that I can't restore what was lost, but can't I find a way to make a better future for all of our people?"  
  
"Would you destroy your people, and the last of the Elvhen way of life? All of the stories we've collected, all of the lore we've preserved, would you destroy that?" Marethari replied.  
  
"No," Merrill said reluctantly.  
  
"I know it pains you my little one, I know your heart aches for the suffering of our people, but there is little that one person alone can do. Your duty is to preserve our Clan and way of life. To provoke Tevinter is to rouse a slumbering fire-demon. Bringing their fury on our heads would destroy the last of the elvhen, no matter what your intent."  
  
"..."  
  
Merrill curled her legs in close to her and rested her chin on her knees, clearly unhappy. Fenris was privately in agreement with Merrill's feelings on the matter, but likewise at the same time knew that Marethari was being sensible. With an enemy like the Tevinter Imperium a pitched battle would come down to cold, hard numbers, and he knew that all of the Clans, down to the last child, put together would not be enough to take down a single one of the Tevinter Legions.  
  
"It is as she said," Fenris added, since Merrill looked like she still might be stubborn about it. "The Imerium outnumbers your people and not by a little. Imagine your people to be an urn full of sand.... the Imerium's soldiers would be a beach. That's how badly you are outnumbered. Their mages are simply not only more numerous but also, frankly, more frightening than yours will ever be. Tevinter Magisters have no morals to speak of and will resort to the most horrific attrocities if it will win them the victory they desire. Wars are not won by the just, witch."  
  
"What would you know about war?" Merrill mumbled.  
  
"I've been a soldier, essentially," he informed her flatly. "My former Master, Danarius, was stationed in Seheron as the lead battlemage during a series of Qunari attacks. I was his personal bodyguard, charged with keeping him from physical harm while he cast his magic. I saw more than my fair share of fighting and killing on the fields there. The Qunari reputation for buchery is well earned, but the Tevinter Magisters show even less mercy in their way than the Qunari do. If it came to a war, your people might fight bravely but they wouldn't last long. You've been a bloodmage, you know the sorts of horrors and atrocities that the Magisters are capable of bringing to the field."  
  
"I was never _that_ kind of bloodmage!" Merrill protested hotly, obviously offended. "I've only ever used what was _mine_ to use! I've used my Blood of the First to boost my spells and that's it. I don't think Death Syphon counts since even normal mages like Anders use them. But the spells to rot the body and bend the blood and take control of others against thier will, I've never used them, _not once_!"  
  
Fenris had clearly hit a nerve. He was a little surprised by how relieved he was to hear it. A bloodmage who wasn't really a bloodmage, wonders never ceased.  
  
"But you do know the spells," he replied. "You know what a bloodmage is capable of if they have less scruples than you. And I do assure you, the Magisters of Tevinter have never known a scruple. They do things in the Imperium that would make your blood run cold."  
  
"All the more reason we should be fighting them!" Merrill said brightly, seeing a rare advantage to verbally best him.  
  
Well, he'd walked into that one. It wasn't as though he disagreed with her. Fenris liked to kill slavers, after all. Fenris reigned in his temper and tried a more reasonable tone.  
  
"Witch," he prefaced with. "You say you practice your blood magic according to a code of ethics, and that you use only your own power and sacrifice only what is yours, but you do know the additional strength that using only a little of that power grants you when you require it. Now. Imagine for a moment if you will, that you're a blood mage from the Teviner Imperium. You have an entire baggage train full of helpless slaves to fuel your magic, you've studied the most horrific spells collected over centuries of dark magic being practiced openly. You can, if you wish, call upon the lives of over fifty mortal sacrifices to fuel your spells. Furthermore, you have soldiers and bodyguards with you. And you find yourself pitted against one little mage of only slightly above average power who scruples against augmenting her magic with every source available to her."  
  
"I really don't see where you're going with this Fenris," Merrill said. "I can't imagine me killing people to use magic, that's not what magic _is_. Magic is about life and the connection we all share with one another on the deepest levels. Magic embraces all things and is part of all things--"  
  
When it looked like the little magelet was prepared to wax eloquent about the sanctity of life and her desire to protect every tree and woobely-eyed little bunny, Fenris cut her off.  
  
" _Not_ the point, mage," he said. "My point is that you're out-maged and out-numbered and you really don't want to tangle with the worst that the Imperium has to offer. Just do me and yourself a favor and reject whatever offer this silk-wearing pony-rider makes you whenever he inevitably does. It won't end well."  
  
"So... you're asking me as a favor to you?" the girl said.  
  
Fenris wasn't sure why she seemed so pleased by the request, but Fenris was already done with dealing with the nonsense.  
  
"Yes, however you like," he said impatiently.  
  
"Well alright then," she said, seeming pleased about something. "I'll do as you ask, because you ask it."  
  
"Sensible of you," he said shortly. "For a change."  
  
Marethari leveled a long look his way and she was doing that creepy mage-thing that sometimes the really old or really perceptive could do where it felt like they were looking straight _into_ you instead of at you. Fenris scowled at her and stomped out of the tent.  
  
Crazy mages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose to suffix 'hren' as a title of respect because according to the dalish dictionary ha'hren means old respected person with the ha meaning old and hren meaning respected.


	23. Chapter 23

Merrill had thought she was not so very pleased with the idea of being soulbonded to Fenris, formerly of the Tevinter Imperium. He was so very _angry_ all of the time, so full of spite and hatred. His temperament made him unpleasant to be around. He rebuffed every attempt she made to try to get to know him... and his _mouth_! Goodness but he had a sharp tongue! Granted, it seemed that sometimes his observations could be funny in a dry sort of way (or so Varric said) and Merrill was sure she would have laughed at his jokes if only she understood them. However, she had woken this morning with the thought that maybe, just _maybe_ , she had only been looking at the bad side of being soulbonded to him. Fenris was moody and difficult to like, his hatred saturated his soul like poison. Merrill didn't want any of his poison infecting her and she feared that this would happen if their bond was fully awakened.  
  
 _:But on the other hand...:_ Merrill thought to herself.  
  
It wasn't as though she _hated_ Fenris. Certainly he could be dark and brooding and as prickly as a Barevi thornvine, but how else was he to be? He'd been a slave, and until he had escaped that had been the only life he'd known. Furthermore his former master hunted him still, and sent bounty hunters after him.  
  
 _:Of course he's not going to be cheerful, silly,:_ she berated herself.  
  
Though she wanted to understand him, she failed at it everytime she tried. She just couldn't imagine living her life without choices, without freedom or the option to do as she felt best. Even her worst choices, the ones that were clearly bad for her, had been allowed because it was her right to make choices, even bad ones. How could she truly know what it felt like to have no choice in life, to suffer through terrible things because there were no other options?  
  
 _:I suppose a life like that wouldn't make for a lot of smiles,:_ she thought.  
  
And their bonding was just one more freedom taken away from him. How could she claim to like him, even a little, to consider him a friend, and allow another freedom to be taken away from him?  
  
 _:It's not as though he'd ever **want** to be bonded to me. I mean, who am I really? I'm not a very good First, and I'd make a terrible Keeper. I suppose my magic is strong enough, but there are other mages out there, I imagine, who are probably stronger than me. Being a mage is really the only truly special thing about me, and I was simply born that way.:_  
  
Merrill didn't think she was particularly pretty. In truth, she thought she was too small, too skinny, too pale and plain-looking. She wasn't strikingly curvaceous and beautiful like Isabella, or brave and righteous like Aveline. She was just this sort of mousey little mage who followed Hawke around.

_:What is there about me that would possibly make someone like Fenris want to give up one of the last freedoms left to him? Nothing! He wouldn't want to tie himself to a mage, the idea is absurd.:_  
  
Though truth be known, Merrill was coming to find the notion of being soulbonded to Fenris to be less and less an onerous burden as time went on. She hadn't been lying when she'd said he was a braw laddie. He was easily the tallest elf she knew, and that enormous sword he swung like it was nothing had certainly given him some very nice, broad shoulders (accentuated by that dark, somewhat sinister-looking armor he wore).

_:In fact, I find him to be rather handsome, in a sharp, dark sort of way.:_

Merrill knew that Velerian Inisfellin set the standard for what was considered beautiful among the elves; he was moon-pale, slender as a willow switch, with features that were better described as beautiful than handsome. The Elven noble's form had the suppleness and grace of a dancer (though he was accounted a feirce warrior). He was pale and slight and slender, in a way that made one question how anyone so beautiful could exude masculinity as he did. Fenris was tall and broad and dark, with a sharp-featured face that was on the more rugged side of handsome. All of the girls in camp had given the Tevinter Elf a second glance, but he was dismissed him in favor of Velerian. However, Merrill privately thought that Fenris was the more handsome of the two.

_Certainly I think Fenris is the more admirable of the two of them. Velerian might have a finer pedigree, but I think that if you put the two of them in a tough situation, Fenris is far more likely to come out of it victorious than Velerian-hren is._  
  
She'd always harbored an admiration for the tough0minded ex-slave. She felt that he was strong and tenacious.

_He'd have had to be resilient to have suffered through his former life under a blood mage magister in Tevinter and all these years on the run and somehow come out of it not only still sane but with any sense of morality at all._

Merrill had the vague sense that teaching a young Fenris the difference between right and wrong had never been an intention of his former master, in fact she was beginning to think that perhaps the man had wanted something more akin to a hound, rather than a man of morals; a feirce, loyal animal that would attack whatever and whoever he was sicced upon without regard to right or wrong. For him to have retained a moral core dspite all the terrible things that had surrounded him and the influence of a master who had no morals to speak of...

_His will must be tremendous._  
  
Merrill might not practice blood magic the way they did in the Tevinter Imperium but Fenris had been right when he'd said she knew the spells, even if she didn't practice them. The Spirit (demon) that she had made her pact with had given her all of the knowledge of blood magery  whole cloth, sort of just, dumping it into her mind. It had probably assumed that she would start using it all right away, but even back then she had been just wary enough of her new found power to take some precautions at least. Merrill had carefully combed through the knowledge she'd received, pulling out what she felt was allowable to use and sealing away the rest in a box inside her mind. The things she'd sealed away had included attrocious ways of cutting open her "sources" (or rather, victims) in a hundred different ways to bleed them for every last drop of power they had, and that had only been the beginning of the attrocities practiced by full blood mages. She knew the sorts of terrible things that a fully practicing blood mage was capable of, Merrill's argument had always been that it didn't have to decend into horrors, that if she was careful of what spells she used and how she used them, that it could be harnessed for good.  
  
 _:Shows how much I really know in the end,:_ she thought glumly.  
  
To have come through all of that he had to have seen with even a sliver of humanity intact spoke of a very strong spirit. Fenris, for all that he could be mean and sarcastic, was no heartless killer. She didn't always _like_ him all of the time, but she didn't feel he was a bad person, She got the feeling that he was someone who had seen a lot of bad things, and those things colored the way he saw the world, but they hadn't hardened him or made him cruel. He still had a capacity for kindness and caring in his own rough-edged way.  
  
 _He's strong enough to make it on his own just fine. I don't see how being soulbonded to me would possibly improve his lot in life. I'd probably just end up being a burden to him._

It was likely to be a moot point soon anyway. The rest of the hahren from the other clan would arrive by the evening for the convocation, and Merrill's fate would be decided. One way or another, she was likely to leave the city and never return. She probably wouldn't see him again once they parted since the Dalish didn't tend to stay near cities very often or for very long. She felt a whistful sort of sadness at the thought that she would not see her friends again after she left.

"Da'len," Keeper Marethari called.

"Yes Keeper?" Merrill replied, feeling a small warm sensation at the familiarity of being back in her clan, with her people and her place in life. She must learn to take comfort in the life that waited her and not to long after the impossible. She Was the First to Sabrae Clan for as long as they wanted her, that was her life.

"I have an idea that I think will help you, come let me tell it to you and you may say what you think about it," Marethari said.

"I'll be right there," she called back.  
  
* * *  
  
Merrill stood beside her Keeper to greet the arrival of the two- and three-person aravells at their camp at the foot of the Sundermount for the rest of the day. Each conveyance carried with it a representative from each Clan called a Speaker. By sunset all nineteen of them, not including Lord Inisfellin, had arrived. Most of the hahren chosen to represent thier Clans at the convocation were old, some were mages, some were scouts and craftsmen. A large pavilion had been erected that afternoon in the small side-valley just before reaching the main camp for the convocation to be held in on the following day. When their expected guests had been fed, Keeper Marethari called for thier attention.

At a nod from her Keeper, Merrill took up her staff and stepped into the light of the campfire.  
  
"Before you debate your decision on the morrow, my apprentice, First Merrill of Sabrae Clan, would like the opportunity to demonstrate for you all that her time away from her Clan, living among our cousins in nearby Shemlen city, has not been unprofitable."  
  
The hahren of the other Clans exchanged puzzled looks looks. It was well known that Merrill had taken up blood-path magic, that while not precisely ruled anathema, was very severly frowned upon among their people. Most Keepers treated it as demon-worship anyway, instead of being merely highly questionable. However, the hahren of the council clearly decided to acquiece to the request of a well-respected member of the Dalish community. The Speakers all, young and old, followed Merrill and her teacher up the steep path of the mountain, but they did not go very far up it, not even as far as the ancient graveyard of their ancestors. The cavelet she had stopped in front of looked innocuous enough on the outside, but those with the ability to attune to magic could sense the taint wafting from the mouth of the cave like a cloud of stink from a rotting corpse. Even those without the ability to sense magic still felt like the place was sinister or at the very least really creepy. Merrill paused outside of a small cavelet and turned to face her audience.  
  
"This cave has been tainted over many centuries by the demon that was housed at the top of this mountain until recently. As many of you know, this demon was summoned during one of the last battles between our kind and the Shemlen, and has continued to be a sinister presence here despite the fact it was supposedly sealed away. The demon resides in this place no more. However, its Taint still remains. I will clear wipe the taint from the cave using the Ten'shii ritual. Unaided."  
  
There was a gasp from a few in the audience. Most of Sabrae clan and half of Alerion Clan had come along with the Speakers to witness the spectacle themselves. Though Keepers and Firsts were allowed to practice thier magic openly (for they did so in order to protect their clans), most chose not to do so. The opportunity to witness a great working of magic openly was surprisingly rare and everyone who could see it wanted to see it. They also wanted to see if the Prodigal First was as powerful as she was rumored to be.  
  
Merrill took up her staff and stepped into the cave. Immidiately the miasma of darkness closed in on her, choking thick and it took her a moment to regain her equilibrium.

_:Haah! Powerful!:_ Merrill thought as she staggered a bit under the strange weight of it.

The darkness was more than a lack of light, it clogged all of the senses, smell, sight, taste and sound. Whispers in her ears murmured of despair and longing, hunger and pain. There was a hot prickling wind over the back of her neck, prompting an instinctual fear, the fear of a rabbit with a wolf breathing right down from on top of it. Rot and decay nearly gagged her, the tang of blood and fear lay thick on her tongue. It felt as though a heavy weight pressed in on all sides, urging her, commanding her to kneel down, to submit... Merrill snapped herself out of its grasp and thumped the ground once with her staff the tip of it lighting with a moon-whilte soul-nimbus of her own magic, creating a chink in the all-pervading thickness of demon taint surrounding her.

:Elgar'nan!: she thought.  
  
The darkness pushed back, crowding in on her, hungry for the light, eagre to snuff it out so that it would once again rule this corner. However, Merrill was not so easily snuffed. She reached past the darnkness into the fresh, clean energy of the Fade, pulling power through her meridians and pushing it out against the mindless devourerer of light she faced. She closed her eyes, drawing her magic into her, centering her thoughts and calming her mind. Merrill created an ephemeral barrier between herself and the miasma, pushing it away from her. In a contest of will, Merrill's concentrated power, with her soul and mind behind it, was stronger than the minless desire of the dark. It wanted no boundaries, it felt that all should be darkness, and Merrill's light, by its very existence was a boundary. She simply expanded that boundary and held. She slowly, carefully, and with great deliberation, drew a circle with the end of her staff in the dirt before her.  
  
"To end and to begin," she intoned in the ancient words of her people as the circle completed.  
  
She did not carry with her the extra spell aides she'd had  with the previous ten'shii. She only had her staff as a tool and her own will and magical power. Merrill sketched out the characters that would define the spell in certain patterns around the edges of the cicle, at the cardinal directions. She pushed her will and magic into those characters, setting the spell into the pattern it would follow. The sigils held no true power of themselves any more than a childs scribble in the dirt did, but the act of setting them would aid her, preventing her from losing track of her purpose, when the magic was at its heaviest and most dangerous.  
  
It took some time to set all of the characters, but when her preliminary work was done, Merrill set aside her staff and settled into the beginning pose of Reeling Silk Energy. With every movement she drew power from the Fade, grounded it, centered it, and pushed it into the air around her. Even an ordinary person would have seen the egg-sized orbs of power trailing long steamers of coruscating, misty dawnfire behind them, slowling drifting about her in a stream. They multiplied and grew more powerful as she continued to gather more power to her from the Fade. Her meridians were burning with icy fire, painful, and she knew she was drawing near the limit of the power she could safely handle for the spell. She wanted to have more to weild in order to be certain that the job was done, but knew she shouldn't press her luck. Merrill made one last pass of Reeling Silk Energy, then she grounded, centered and placed herself in repose form; weight sunk, palms pressed flat together. A thick miasma of burning misty light drifted slowly around her, waiting.  
  
"Let the balance be restored in this place."  
  
Merrill slowly raised her hands, body straightening and gathered in the streaming orbs of wild magic. They flowed about her hands, around her body like a living gown of light. As though her whole body were a herding staff and the magic was halla, she directed it this way and that, the streamers weaving in and out with each other in an intricate and beautiful knotwork, a pattern of magic with her will holding it in place. Merrill moved through the First Form with the ease of a dancer who was well practiced in their dance, and then into the Second Form.  
  
As though the miasma of darkness in the cave sensed her intent, with a silent roar of attack it abruptly _pushed_ , shoving in on all sides, pounding against the barrier Merrill had erected to begining her preparations. Even cushioned by the wild magic surrounding her, Merrill could feel its pressure weighing down on her. It felt as though the air had suddenly become giant fist, squeezing in all around her with the intention of crushing her in its grip. She gasped for breath as the pressure grew almost unbearably tight, struggling to take _one more breath_ , pushing back with her will even as she continued to direct the magic for her spell through the Form. The darkness somehow sensed that if she reached the end of the Second Form, the tide of the struggle would turn against it. It redoubled its efforts to crush her, but she held on, forcing her body to contiue the pattern though it felt like she was trying to dance in a weighted wool dress, underwater, in the middle of a swiftly moving stream.  
  
 _:Storm Wind Rages Down. Monkey Delivers Fruit. Tall Tree Sways in the Breeze. Sun... Sets... **Softly**!:_  
  
Merrill gave a great heave of her will and locked the spell pattern into place. The motes of power she'd been directing then steadied into flowing lines, and her sheild went from a thin barrier into a wall of rock-steady magic. The darkness pressed and pounded, howeled and raged to no avail. She took a deep breath at last, safe for the moment.  
  
 _:Now comes the challenging part,:_ she thought, a bit wryly.  
  
Her spell-dance had taken her to the edges of her circle in all directions, and Merrill now returned to the center for the most pivotal part of the spell. She closed her eyes, centered her thoughts, and forced a calm to come over her. Sometimes in the middle of working with her magic, properly, with no blood involved, she felt  a tranquility like nothing she felt anywhere else.

In that calm, Merrill reached deep within herself, for the inner gate that separated Self and Fade. Throwing her arms out wide, Merrill opened the sluice gate, letting the raw magic of the Fade course through her meridians and into the material world. It burned through her with an icy fire, raging as a river in flood. The sheer power of it made her body feel stretched far too thin, her meridian's bloated and expanded to carry the sheer force of the raw magic. She clamped down with her will and hung on, willing herself to hold out jut a little bit more. The longer she held out, the more magic she had to work with, and the greater the area she could cleanse. After what seemed like an eternity but was scarceley five heartbeats, Merrill felt her control start to slip. Slowly, with great struggle, Merrill brought her arms in over her breast, closing the gate inside of her as she did so. When her palms touched, the gate was closed and a halo of white fire surrounded her.  
  
The wild magic of the Fade hung about her, thick as fog but as torrential as a monsoon. It did not wish to answer her commands and struggled like a wild bird eager to be loosed as Merrill began the Third and Fourth Forms. However, now Merrill was a bit more familiar with the process. She did not struggle with it, like an inexperinced owner tugging on its dogs leash entreating it to obey. She _commanded_ , with her will, sharp and competent and fully knowing who was _master_ in her circle. The magic gave a token protest, but now fell to heel.  
  
Third and Fourth Forms flowed much more smoothly than they had the first time she had performed them, and the magic gathered into a single glowing point before pouring downward in a waterfall of pure power. Merrill closed the circle, stepping into the pyre with a strange feeling of elation. The magic still burned, but she knew the burn this time, and there was no taint within her to be harmed. Her channels _accepted_ the flow and directed she the power this time, not struggling against it. Merrill pushed the boundaries of the spell outward with her will, widening the circle and cleansing all of the taint the light touched. The earth throbbed like a hearbeat, the air hummed in a resonant song, and all around her was _magic_. She felt the taint give way before her. All that had been warped and darkened with foulness over time was scrubbed clean and it contaminant returned to the all-source once again. Her work was done. Merrill closed her eyes and sent the magic back through her into the Fade.  
  
After a long, silent heartbeat the magic obeyed her will and began to dissipate, flowing back thorugh her inner gate to join the allsource, the Fade. Merrill opened her eyes as she felt the last of it dissipate and looked around her in satisfaction at a perfectly ordinary cave with no lingering trace of dark or innimical magic. In fact there was _light_ streaming in through cracks in the ceiling. That light glowed a pure golden-white, practically seemeing to radiate purity.

_:That's turned the trick of it then, all is as it should be here.:_

She had done her work well, and was satisfied.  
  
 Merrill took one step forward and her knees turned to water as her strength abruptly left her body in a rush. Rather than hit to cold stone floor however, she was caught by her Keeper who looked down at her with tears brimming in her eyes. Merrill knew that look, she had once lived for that look. As a child, studied hard, long into the night memorizing the Lore of the Elvhen; the geneologies, histories, languages, hundreds and hundreds of ancient elvhen characters just so that her teacher would look down upon her with that look and praise her. She had not seen that look in _so long_ , she had not let herself realize how very deeply she had missed it. Pride. Happiness. She had made her Keeper _proud_ of her again. For that alone, Merrill would have faced down a thousand demons.  
  
"You have done well, da'lenn," she said into the silence.  
  
"Ma seranas, Keeper," she replied, feeling warm and happy all over.  
  
Curious elves tiptoed by ones and twos into the cave, the mages were more cautious than the exploring scouts or the practical craftsmen. The mages among the Speakers were the most impressed and quickly relayed the details of her feat to their less sensitive kin. Merrill had not only cleansed the miasma, she had scrubbed the very stones of the cave clear of the evil that had seeped into it, saturating it down to its very essence. In a place that had been profane and foul she had created a sanctuary of purity and goodness.  
  
"Look there," Keeper Tenuviel pointed.  
  
At the back of the cave there had been a trickle of foul, murky, disgusting slime that might have once been a slow trickle of water. There was now a deep pool with smooth, rounded edges, the water in it clear and pure. One adventurous soul stepped forward and tasted it.  
  
"Eisa'yui!" he gasped in surprise, the word was repeated in awed whispers.   
  
Merrill looked in surprise at her Keeper, who looked back in surprise at her for this completely unexpected development.  
  
"What is that?" Anders asked curiously, having come to see the ritual along with the rest because he was curious and a mage. There had been grumbles about letting a Shem see one of their sacred elvhen magical secrets but as neither Keeper Marethari or Merrill forbade him from coming along, he'd been grudgingly allowed to attend.  
  
"It is nothing you need know of Shem!" one of the elves snapped at him, defensively.  
  
"Keeper?" Merrill asked curiously. "I had thought that this place was place of the urthanen before the Fall, how is one of _those_ there, aren't they usually locked in the Sacred Groves?"  
  
"Usually, but not always," her Keeper replied. "There is a reason this place was held sacred by our ancestors, da'lenn. It seems that your cleansing of the taint has restored some of this original magic of this place."  
  
"Still don't see what's so great about your little pond," Anders said.  
  
"It's an eisa'yui shii'an... I suppose you could say it is a healing spring. More or less," Merrill explained, though a number of her fellow elves glared at her for explaining to a Shemlen what was clearly something they held very sacred.  
  
Anders looked at her in patent disbelief.  
  
"You... you're having me on," he said.  
  
"Try it yourself and see," Merrill said.  
  
When Anders looked like he would have done just that, every elf nearby turned on him and bristled. Their intent was clear, this was _their_ healing spring and he'd be allowed near it only over their dead bodies. Anders peaceably raised his hands and backed out of the cave. With an imperoius wave of her hand, Marethari cleared a path to the edge of the fountain and dipped a small flask in, bringing the water back to her First who rested tiredly against the wall of the cave. Merrill was surprised to see that even the leather of the flask, which was old and cracked, seemed to rejunvenate a bit, becoming smoother and more elastic after being dipped in the water of the spring. When she sipped from the flask, the water was like ice-fire, so cold and sweet and good, it was as though she drank life itself. Instantly the fatigue from her recent ordeal evaporated and she felt better and more energetic than she had when she'd woken.  
  
 _:I wonder how Fenris would feel if he drank this,:_ Merrill thought. _:Maybe it would make the pain of his marks go away. Or maybe it would even restore his lost memory!:_  
  
The trick would be getting him to ingest some suspicious, magical mage-water. She might be able to pour it into his wine, but she didn't like the idea of tricking him, even to help him. He would be very angry with her when he found out. It was something to think about for the future anyway, it wasn't like the yui'nan was going anywhere.  
  
Merrill rose to her feet and exited the cave to join her human Healer friend outside the cave. The circle of her magic had extended even past the exit and she found Anders testing the boundary where the _feel_ of the magic changed from the very slight feeling of "offness" that the rest of Sundermount had to the cleansed purity that her spell had brought about.  
  
"Won't the darkness that still exists on the rest of this mountain slowly seep back into your little vaccuum of purity?" he asked curiously. "I can sort of feel it trying to push in already."  
  
In silent accord, the two of them began to walk together down the mountain, talking as they went.  
  
"Most probably, yes, I'd say," Merrill said candidly. "It's the nature of darkness to want to swallow the light, and to want to rid itself of a boundary. Light tells darkness that it is not limitless, and darkness resents being limited, it want's to be all that there is... or so the Lore tells us. That's why darkspawn corrupt the light within. The rot of decay turns existence into nothingness, life into death."  
  
"For someone whose never been around darkspawn, you have a pretty poetic description of them. The reality is... a bit more visceral than that," Anders informed her. "Hurlocks for example are repulsive, horned nightmares that walk on two legs and crush everything they can get their talons on."  
  
"As the Grey Warden in the area I bow to your superior wisdom on the subject," Merrill said with a slightly teasing bow.  
  
"Well, not so much of a Warden now, I'm afraid," Anders said a little dryly.  
  
Merrill smiled a little sadly in reply to his wan smile.  
  
"Do you miss it?" she asked him.  
  
"Being a Grey Warden?"  
  
At her nod he paused to think about it.  
  
"Some days," he replied honestly. "I left because I felt there was a greater need. Justice for the mages. Its an important calling, trying to right some of the wrongs in the world rather than just run from them all the time. But in a lot of ways, life as a Warden was much simpler. I had a little room all my own in the Keep, I had other Wardens who were comrades, if not companions. All I had to do was wander around the deeproads killing darkspawn. Simple right? There are days, more and more, when I wish for that simplicity."  
  
"I've seen your work in the clinic in lowtown," Merrill said. "You do a lot of good there for people who sorely need it."  
  
"It _is_ something," he agreed. "I tend to think of it as the one thing in my life that I haven't managed to screw up yet."  
  
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Merrill comforted. "There's still tomorrow to make it right. The future hasn't been detirmenined yet, and you're still alive so you still have chances."

Anders had a whistfully melancholy look on his face, as though she hadn't just stted something obvious. If she could change her mind and try to make things right, then Anders should be able to as well. After all, he was a good person, merrill knew that.  
  
"Don't ever let that change about you Merrill," Anders said instead. "Your faith in the future and your belief in the goodness of the world, even when it isn't always so, don't _ever_ let that go."  
  
They reached the edge of the camp, finding Fenris pacing with a scowl on his face.  
  
"What witchery have you been up to now, mage?" he demanded the moment he saw her, leveling a glare over at her.  
  
"Which mage would you be talking about?" Merrill baited. "Because there's _two_ of us here, Fenris."  
  
"You know well that I meant you," he bristled further at her levity. "And don't play the fool. You did some of that daft, crazy, immolating yourself on a holy pyre of Fade-magic again, didn't you?"  
  
"The Tenn'shii ritual, yes," Merrill replied. "I had to prove that I'm still an asset to the Clans. Otherwise they'll listen to Lord Inisfellin and exile me for good. Keeper Marethari thought it would be a good idea, and it turned out well. In fact, better than well, I'm getting better at it and I uncovered an ancient elvhen healing spring completely by accident. I wonder if they'll announce if it's open for frolicking or not."  
  
"Frolicking in a hotspring?" Anders said with a small smile. "Sounds... _invigorating_. Hey don't they do a lot of that sort of thing in Tevinter, Fenris? I've heard some things about the public baths there."  
  
"It's not the public baths, it's the private ones," the elf said dryly.   
  
"Did I miss something dirty?" Merrill asked disappointedly, looking hopefully between the two of them.  
  
"Nope," Anders lied glibly.


	24. Chapter 24

Apparently the special water fountain that this witch's magic unblocked was considered a really big deal by the Dalish elves because they pulled out the hidden bottles of wine and their instruments and...

: _And they're all frolicking again_ ,: Fenris thought irritatedly.

If the Dalish spent half as much time trying to help out thier "city cousins" as they did frolicking around in the woods, the elvhen would be doing a great deal better than they were in Fenris' opinion.

: _Or they'd all be arrested and sold into slavery_...: Fenris revised himself.

Just witnessing how clueless Merrill was about the simplest parts about city life was enough to educate him in how much trouble an entire Clan of the people might be if they were unleashed on a city. She'd had to have Isabella teach her how to buy food on her first week in the city. Aveline had had to teach her how the public lavatories worked. The dwarf had carefully schooled her about paying her taxes and the tithes to the Chantry.

: _And despite her ball of yarn, she still gets lost and ends up in random airing cupboards_.:

"Hullooo Fenris!" Merrill called, sitting herself beside him without asking if she was allowed to do so first.

He glared in her direction for the liberty.

"Och, why such a grumpy-puss?" she inquired.

"Why are you here?" he demanded. "I thought we were in agreement about seeing less of each other, and not more."

"We're still companions together, we go out on adventures and slay dragons and... oh look, that tree branch is shaped like a water pump!"

: _ **This** is the elf I'm stuck with. Out of every elf in all of existence, I get a naive, silly mage with the attention span of a butterfly_.:

"Well, I know you've made it clear about what you don't want," she said, offering him a bottle of wine. "But I wonder if you know what it is that you want."

It was nearly on the tip of his tongue to answer that slaves didn't want, not if they were smart. Wanting was a sign of ambition, and ambition that did not serve a purpose was dangerous. He stopped himself. He reminded himself that he was not a slave anymore.

: _Nearly five years of freedom and I must still remind myself_ ,: he thought bitterly.

The chains were still there, invisible, draining the life out of the life he had now.

"What does it matter," he grumbled. "I wouldn't get it anyway. Wanting can be dangerous, so I shall say then, that I don't want you trying to connect with me, so shove off."

"Oh..." Merrill said, looking disappointed.

Did she ever do disappointed _well_. If they gave out awards for the most pathetic disappointed look, she'd certainly take the win without any troubles at all. He'd seen puppies, half starved and caught out in the rain, that couldn't match up to her look. Of course, he'd told them to shove off his food or his sleeping place too. Survival was hard, and if one wanted to survive, a certain hardness was often required.

"Well, I guess I'll just..."

She looked hopefully at him, clearly hoping he might change his mind if she slipped him the opportunity to reconsider. Fenris stared steadily back at her, radiating his wish that she be gone. With a final dejected sigh, and one last melting, watery-eyed begging look (that did _not_ make him waver just a little bit) she went back to her Keeper like a good little Dalish.

: _And good riddance_ ,: he thought.

He pretended that there was _not_ the feeling in his thought that he was having to remind himself that it was better she move along. He wasn't social, he didn't need to be. Despite the fact that he now had allies, even friends, (in a very loose and non-intrusive sort of way) that was all he was looking for. The Dalish lived three inches away from each other, _all the time_! They were always greeting each other and touching each other, and laughing together. They bathed together, ate together, drank together, slept together. Fenris didn't like being touched, and on a good day he was called prickly. He wouldn't fit here and he had no desire to. If he gave that Dalish elf the least sign of encouragement she'd be all over him like he was her new best _lethaliin_. She already kept trying to make friends with him when he made it clear he wasn't interested, who knew how much worse she'd get if she received any encouragement.

: _Let the witch stay among her kind, and let them take her far away from me_.:

He had his own troubles to worry about. Danarius was still out there, and still sending bounty hunters after his runaway property. Sooner or later, matters would come to a head, and he needed to be ready to fight. This bonding thing was a weakness, and Fenris could not afford a weakness. So he pretended that his eyes were not drawn toward her swaying backside as she wandered over to the safety of her Keeper's fire. A slave never looked directly at his master for it could be viewed as impertinence, but they were masters of the oblique look, a way of glancing at things without actually seeming to look at them that told a slave everything he or she needed to know about a situation in a single glance.

He spotted Velerian striding confidently over to the Keeper's fire where Merrill sat beside Marethari. The noble elf had changed his clothes, and if anything, he looked even more impressive than he had that afternoon. He was dressed in a silk that flashed from the light green of new leaves to silver when the light hit it right, cut close to his body to accentuate his lean, elven frame. His long blonde hair was pulled up in an elaborate style with silver and jade hair combs. His boots and gloves and the trim on his weapons were white leather. Fenris, who had been at his master's side as his bodyguard when he'd entertained powerful guests, knew the ways that people dressed to impress and to display power and status. Velerian was dressed better than Merrill, and had done so on purpose. Something was up.

Pretending to find his bottle of wine unsatisfactory, Fenris walked away from his fire and positioned himself so that he could hear and see what was going on at the Keeper's fire.

"Andaran'atishan, First of Sabrae Clan," Velerian greeted Merrill.

Fenris need not have moved, the elf's voice was pitched to carry, while still maintaining a conversational tone. Danarius had used a similar tone when holding conversations with his pawns that he meant for others to overhear.

"Oh!" Merrill said, startling suddenly and looking up blankly at the noble elf. "Yes? Er, um, andaran'atishan Velerian-hren," Merrill said formally.

Velerian almost looked like he was posing a bit, in a preening sort of way. Letting the sun shine off his silk ensemble and catch his hair just so, he did look pretty as a picture. With the way he straightened and drew his shoulders back, Fenris had the sudden amusing and slightly gratifying thought that he might have made the noble elf feel a little self-conscious about his relative lack of height. Elves were supposed to be smaller than the humans, but seeing an elf that was almost as tall as one seemed to have made the elven noble feel a little insecure about his own height.

: _He needn't bother_ ,: Fenris thought with a roll of his eyes as he looked over the surprisingly large selection of Dalish wines. : _The witch is a tiny thing. My two hands together could probably span her waist.:_

"As you know, my family name is long and illustrious," Velerian said as a preamble, his face solemn with a hint of condecention; the feeling that he was grating her a boon by associating with her and she shoud well know it. "We can trace my blood all the way back through Haramshiral to Arlathann itself, Merrill. My name has ties to the ancient royal family."

"Oh, yes," she acknowledged. "Through a cadet line in the ducal household from the Last King's uncles' second cousin. On the Teliari'aleth House side of the family."

"Well informed I see," Veleian said, sounding fatuously pleased.

"It is a Keeper's job to remember. Geneology has its place in the lore of the Clans," she replied. "Would you like some tea?"

Velerian ignored the offer, choosing instead to strut before her, reminding Fenris of nothing so much as a peacock displaying his superior plumage before his chosen peahen.

"There has been great pressure among my Clan and my family both to find an appropriate woman for a lifebonding," he informed her.

Here his voice was definitely pitched to carry, and a few of the elves around Fenris were watching the exchange in avid curiosity.

"We must all do our duty by the Clans," Merrill replied neutrally. "No Dalish lifebondings mean no Dalish babies. Who will carry on the lore if there are no more Dalish to do so?"

"Precisely so," Velerian said firmly. "You are a First, so naturally that would be of great concern for you. It is a great concern to not only Sabrae, but the the leaders of the Clans in general, that the lore you have learned and the powerful gift in your blood should not be lost to our people."

: _Great Maker, he can't seriously be..._ : Fenris thought in disgust.

"And that is why," Velerian raised his voice so that everyone in the Clan could hear him and adroitly steered her to the center of camp.

Merrill looked like a halla caught in a steel trap with the arrow of a hunter being pointed at her. Dismay was written all over her face as the well dressed and well Dalish princeling circled her waist with a hand to bring her in close and took one of her small hands in his, looking down into her face, which was blushing bright pink even as she was trying to edge back away from him.

"I have chosen _you_ , Merrill of Sabrae Clan, as the woman I will lifebond with. My name and clan will be yours, our futures intertwined, and our children will possess my great lineage and your powerful Gift."

Fenris snorted as Merrill looked at the elf in surprise, clearly taken completely off guard by his sudden proposal.

: _If one could call it that, it sounded more to like he was making an announcement of his decision and the witch should be honored to be included in it!_ : Fenris thought.

He'd seen a successful marriage alliance or two forced that way in the Tevinter Imperium. Done properly, it was an effective strategy for using social pressure to force a match that might otherwise have been turned down if done in private. It did, however, rely on one party being of a weak-willed, subservient sort of disposition, a nature that caved easily to social pressure out of a desire to please. Clearly he thought that his abrupt and public proposal would foce Merrill to accept simply out of a desire to avoid upsetting her Clan by refusal. He clearly did not know her very well.

: _I think I'll stick around and watch this blow up in that man's face,_ : Fenris thought cheerfully, picking out another vintage in anticipation of the best entertainment he'd had in days. Good entertainment was best accompanied with good wine, he'd found.

Say what he would about the girl being proud and stubborn when it came to her magic, the same stubborness that had made her turn away from her duty and clan to follow what she perceived as a greater duty was certainly not going to cave to a little social pressure, and certainly not to the weak strategies of some inept schemer incapable of reading a person or a situation before he went ahead with his plans.

: _Here looks like a fine spot to watch the show_ ,: Fenris thought with what passed for cheer for him.

He found a spot next to a mostly unoccupied fire that had a clear view of the little drama unfolding, and popped open the bottle of wine, took a swig of it and prepared to enjoy the spectacle.

Merrill's cheeks colored a deep pink as the spectators, whose eyes seemed to drill into her from all sides, made their own approval of the match known. Even those who did not approve joined in the applause, giving into the general feeling of goodwill on the matter. She looked embarrassed enough, but Fenris could sense an undercurrent of tense irritation in Merrill; she didn't _like_ that he'd put her on the spot, nor did she like that he had phrased what should have been a polite request as a command. In short, she didn't like _him_ or the mess he'd put her in, and wasn't going to shy about pushing it back on him for the inconvenience.

"Velerian-hren," Merrill said firmly. "I am of course greatly honored by your consideration of my unworthy person in your choice of lifemates."

The noble's expression turned quite self-satisfied, as he was, no doubt of it, quite certain of his victory.

"But I must respectfully decline the honor."

The look of surprise on his face was both priceless and likely quite insulting to Merrill, if the sharp spike of carefully suppressed was anything to go by.

"Decline," he said flatly, clearly uncertain he'd heard right.

"Yes," Merrill said, in a short tone, not looking at him.

She couldn't very well tell him the truth: 'oh I'm soulbonded but I've decided to reject the will of my Goddess by not bonding fully to Fenris here.' That would not go over well at all with her Clan. Sure, it would easily get her out of marrying Velerian, but it would also get her married to Fenris before she could say "fall of Arlathann!" and he'd _definitely_ have a thing or two to say about that.

There was a low level sursuration as the elves, clearly expecting her to leap at the honor and embrace it fully, remarked at the unexpected turn of events. Most wondered what was wrong with the girl. Merrill, wary of the spotlight and clearly conscious of every eye on her, gently pushed from the nobleman's loose embrace and walked toward the edge of camp, looking neither left nor right. The spot that the young lord followed her to, a small copse of trees at the edge of the camp but still within shouting distance of help was also within earshot of where Fenris sat, sipping his wine and enjoying the drama.

"Might this one inquire precisely why you're declining my offer?" Velerian demanded sharply when they were alone enough to talk in relative privacy. The rest of the clan, prompted by a glare form their Keeper, pretended to respect their privacy.

: _Embarrassing her into submission in public didn't work, so now he'll try bullying her in private. Not a good strategy, fool_.:

He'd never thought of Merrill stubbornness as a source of entertainment before, but it had never before been this entertaining.

"You may ask," Merrill allowed, her face and tone as serene and poised as her own teachers was.

"Well then, why do you decline my offer Merrill of Sabrae Clan? You have not received any offers from any other Clansman since you have come of age."

Merrill blushed deeply in embarrassment as the elven noble clearly hit a sore spot with her. Velerian clearly caught the wince and moved in for the kill.

"You say you chose your exile," Velerian pressed. "But isn't it really because no man here would have you?"

Merrill made an offended noise but he either didn't hear it or chose to ignore it for he continued on.

"First an awkward child, kept closeted away as First to Sabrae Clan, then a blood mage, a shame upon your Clan, then an outcast, living among the shem in shameful exile. In all your life among the Clans you'd received no offers. Nothing. Not a body-heir contract, not a marriage alliance, not even a trysting flower during a frolic. It's not exactly as though you're beating your suitors away from you with your staff. In fact, you don't have any suitors, despite the fact that you are a mage of known power and ability."

"Thank you, Velerian-hren, for reminding me of my status as the Dalish Clan's most unwanted," Merrill replied with an edge to her tone.

"Then it eludes my comprehension why you're rejecting my suit, Merrill. You've no other prospects unless you intend to thoroughly embarrass yourself and your clan by taking up with one of the shem--"

"I am _not_!" Merrill snapped hotly.

"Well in that case, you have even less reason to turn me down," he pointed out.

His look turned a little cajoling, or at least, less condescending.

"You're saying no when you should be saying yes. With my name and your power we could have an amazing combination. You've faced down a an ancient inimical force then went back and cleansed part of its evil taint from the very stone of the mountain. In the process you unblocked and purified a healing spring, giving a great gift back to your people. A Gift like yours should be protected and nurtured. I would care for you, provide for your every need. If you married me, and took my name I could promise you that every Dalish would treat you with the respect and honor you deserve."

"I'm deserving of no special consideration, Velerian-hren," Merrill replied modestly. "As you know, I have made a number of foolish choices in my life and I must be about the business of repaying them. Furthermore, my Gift is held in trust to all of the people, I am but a steward of my power and it belongs where I may do the most good. Even if we married and you offered me the protection of your name I would decline it out of interest in maintaining the balance of power among the Clans."

"I think you misunderstand me Merrill," Velerian said smoothly. "No doubt your Keeper has told you some wild tale about how I plan to take all the warriors from the People, stripping the Clans of their protectors to fight a war we cannot win. How I want to dissolve the Keepers council and restore my name to the place it once occupied, leading the People. Nothing could be further from the truth."

"Oh?" Merrill said curiously, clearly ready to take him at face value. "Well, that's good then. But my answer hasn't changed. I still won't lifebond with you, and that's the end of it, Velerian-hren."

Now he looked both offended and incredulous. Clearly he was not an elf who was accustomed to being denied, and it had certainly never entered into his head that any proud Dalish would ever reject a proposal of marriage from him.

"I offer you protection and care for your great gift and the legacy of my great name and... you refuse it. _Why_?!"

"I will not tell you why my answer is no, but that is my answer," Merrill said simply.

She bowed to him, and left him to accept it. He shot to his feet and jerked back on her arm as Merrill turned to leave. The scowl on his face transformed his features from something that looked beautiful in a sort of tragic-beauty sort of way... now he looked hard and dangerous. He looked like a man of power that had been thwarted by somone utterly beneath him and now he was about to force the universe back into its natural order.

"I will remind you that the convocation meets to decide your fate tomorrow blood mage," he said shaply and with clear intent. "A word from me one way or the other will sway many hearts. I offer you here a chance to make all right with the world again. If you married me, your position would be restored, your Clan would accept you fully as their First again and you would no longer be in exile among the shem."

"To accept me or deny me is their choice to make," Merrill said with grave firmness. "I knew when I made my own choices that I risked loosing their good will in pursuit of what I had hoped would be a greater good. I will not deny my choices, or theirs, by seeking to use misrepresentation to sway their opinions of me. I would rather they disliked me honestly, than force themselves to accept me merely because I married well."

"Your people will shun you, if you deny me. You deny your children the honor of carrying my name, a name which can be traced back to the days of Arlathann."

Merrill was silent at that, a lok on her face said that she was wavering a little at the enticement of such history, for the temptation obviously was a great one to her. Fenris knew how ridiculously high Merrill prized her _precious_ elvhen history. No doubt she would have been quite delighted, under other circumstances, to gift her children with such a name and bloodline, but Merrill perceived herself as off the market simply because her stupid fake Goddess had commanded it so. She wouldn't settle with Fenris, but she wasn't entertaining offers elsewhere, no matter how well-bred they were.

"It is not only a past I offer you," Velerian pressed. "But a future as well. With my name and your great power, we could be a force for much good for our people. If we combined our power and influence, there are few who would stand against it. Our people would unite in common cause under our banner, we could once again raise the banner of a united people. It would be as though Haramshiral were reborn."

Merill visibly wavered in the face of such temptation. It was, after all, everything she wanted. It was everything she had ever pursued when she had chosen the path of blood magic and the demon-mirror wrapped in a different box. The contents of that box were equally poisonous however, and Merrill seemed to know it.

"I will not join you, nor will I be the cause of our people's downfall," she said firmly. "Before you start making your plans for victory, I believe you would be well served to go out into the wider world and spend some time among other peoples. You may find your perspective vastly changed if you do. A frog in the well knows not the ocean."

"You've spent too much time among the Shem, you're practically one of them now," he accused. "You're a city-grubbing flat-ear, pleased to bend knee and grovel to your human masters like a dog."

Merrill looked at him in shock, too plainly surprised at the grave insult he'd casually flung at her, right out in front of everyone, to react. She couldn't even feel insulted she was so surprised.

: _And he's just given her the excuse she needs to refuse him for good_.: Fenris thought, sensing endgame in the little teacup drama.

Well, it had been entertaining while it lasted, maybe Varric could get a good tale out of it, provided of course that he left out the part about the witch being soulbonded to Fenris. Merrill meanwhile was quick to act on her suitors loss of temper as it was a fine reason to refuse his suit without having to explain her true reasons for doing so.

"Forced marriages may or may not be the norm among our city cousins, Velerian-hren," Merrill said. "However, among the Dalish we still value a choice freely made for good or ill. It shows poor form and poor character that a man rejected once, attempts coercion and insult on a woman who merely declines his offer. I am under no obligation to accept your suit simply because you choose to make it. Once again, I thank you for your consideration of myself as your future bride, but I must respectfully decline."

She turned smartly on her heel this time and marched herself off to the relative safety of her Keeper's fire. Fenris, watching the rejected suitor she'd left behind, saw the ugly snarl of thwarted rage on his face. For whatever reason, the elf had considered Merrill to be an asset to him and was now denied that asset. Fenris had been a slave at the side of one of the most influential magisters in the Tevinter Imperium. He'd essentially been a piece of furniture during meetings to discuss the brokering of power and he knew men of power. He knew how they thought and how they acted. This wasn't over with.


	25. Chapter 25

"There are still predators in these woods," Fenris grumbled as he kept a weather eye out for any dangers lurking nearby, by now heartily sick of her sobbing.

A pair of pure white Halla followed along behind them like lambs, carrying the medicines that the two mages had made at the camp, and a pack of Merrill things that had been gathered at Marethari's command.

"It would be best if you save your weeping for when we make camp," he continued to mutter. "You can cry your eyes out when we've become better entrenched."

"Your empathy and compassion astound me," Anders snapped back at him. "Clearly you don't remember what it was like to loose your home and family."

"Survival must always come before emotion," Fenris replied, still scanning about them for danger.

Even as he put on his usual uncaring demeanor, he was surprised by how close to home the abomination's retort had hit. He might not remember loosing his family, or if he'd even had one at all, but he did remember those strange confusing days after he had been left behind by his master on Seheron. He recalled how suddenly wide and terrifying the world had felt when he had suddenly lost his certainty of his place in it. He remembered well the confusion he'd felt at not having any orders to follow, the strange sense of purposelessness he'd felt that being without his master, the man who'd defined and shaped his existence until then. How much worse would those feelings have been if he had loved and respected Danarius instead of fearing him?

"There is a fortified clearing off the road nearby that I've often camped at with Hawke when we've traveled the Vinmark Mountains," he added a moment later. "We shall simply make camp early there."

Merrill's sobs quieted a little as she clearly struggled to contain them, possibly catching on to his rising irritation with her, but they did not abate. The campsite that Hawke and others had used was cut into a deep hillside facing away from the road, the shelter was a dead tree fallen over with the roots sticking partly up in the air. A hollow had been dug beneath the roots, forming a small burrow. Fenris slid in the dirt cave to clear out the small fireplace. Merrill, still sniffling, went off to find deadfall and water, while Anders, presumably, went in search of something to eat. The halla munched on something they found to eat in the forest. Fenris could admire their beauty, but simply could not imagine trying to ride one; but in all fairness, it seemed that the other elves did not do so either.

The two mages returned shortly, Anders with some kind of tree hares and Merrill with a cord tied around a large stack of kindling and a long, thick branch over one shoulder, dragging behind her. Fenris sighed at the thought that she was likely leaving a long, plough-like track for anyone to follow right back to their camp... but when he went to relieve her of her burden and clear up the trail she'd doubtless left behind her found that the woods behind her was completely bereft of tracks, as though she had never been there at all.

' _Spooky. Useful, but spooky,_ ' he thought. _'Then again, she is Dalish, and one trained to be a Keeper, I doubt there's much about the woods she doesn't know one way or another.'_

As though she'd picked up on his thoughts Merrill said

"The feels at ease around us, and there is nothing traveling the man-road for as far as I can sense, but that doesn't mean there are no natural predators about. The Wood would not tell me of those sorts of threats since they live by the Green Word. If you like, I'll make the camp a little bit more livable. Even if I don't live among the Dalish, at least somebody can benefit from my knowledge."

Merrill walked over to the sheltering roots of the tree and touched it, closing her swollen, red-rimmed eyes. For a long moment nothing happened, but she was a mage so Fenris knew that _something_ was likely to sooner or later. A moment later, something happened. The tree glowed a soft green for a moment and the roots writhed under har hnd like a living thing, curling and weaving among themselves. The earth of the crudely dug hollow shifted, seeming to melt and reshape itself like clay then solidify. Once she was done, what had been a small hole that would fit two people, maybe three if they squeezed and held their breath, was a nice little burrow in the hillside, completely surrounded by sturdy roots, solid as a little house. It even looked like it had an obscured little chimney at one end. When Fenris peeked down through the entrance at the top of the side the interior was surprisingly spacious, the walls were still dirt but it felt like mortar or sandstone, stuck together into a solid rock. The roof did not look like it would leak.

"Come along, da'lenns," Merrill invited the halla, tears still in her voice though it seemed that the purpose that using her magic had given her had stopped her sobbing at least.

The halla followed her, nuzzling along her sides like large, affectionate cats. Fenris leaned the larger, thicker branch she'd dragged with her against an nearby rock and hit it in two different points to break it up, then cut those into smaller pieces for the fire. He then entered the improved shelter to find Merrill taking the packs off from the animals and stowing their gear in the corner, then rubbing down the Halla, all the while singing songs to them in what he assumed must be elvhen. Then apparently the song of her people set her off again and she fell sobbing into the side of one of the beasts. Fenris rolled his eyes at her incessent bawling, and laid a fire in the earth-lined firepit, admiring a bit the unnaturally natural chimney above it.

_'I can think of more than a few times I would have liked to have such a comfortable shelter on my travels_ ,' he thought to himself.

There had been more than a few nights when he had slept balanced precariously in tree branches all but unprotected from the elements, or under the slim protection of rocky overhangs where the slightest shift in the wind blew rain on him.

"Well!" Anders said cheerfully, poking his head into the shelter through the mostly concealed hatch. "The Dalish certainly have a way with using nature to their advantage."

Fenris didn't comment, but took the mages tree hares from him, skinning and dressing them. Anders stopped him before he could throw the hair and offal into the fire to burn away, simply incinerating them on the spot with magic so that they wouldn't have to put up with the smell of burnt hair. For a man who detested magic and mages, Fenris was seeing an awful lot of it lately. Merrill was quiet and subdued while dinner cooked and Fenris stayed out of her way out of respect for her privacy and a wish not to have to listen to her sobbing again. He was also studiously ignoring a small part of him that felt like it was aching inside. He was going to call it indigestion or hunger.

It was a quiet meal. Fenris, characteristically, kept to himself, Anders looked worried about the other mage but looked like he didn't know what to say or how to say it. Merrill ate automatically, while silent tears rolled down her face.

"I should never have stood up before the Convocation," Merrill said tearfully into the silence at the end of the meal. "I should have just accepted their judgement and not said anything. It's my fault Marethari had to exile me."

Anders set aside his bowl and set his hands on Merril's shoulders, looking earnestly down at her.

"Merrill," he said with intense seriousness. "You did _nothing_ wrong. Its alright for you to stand up for yourself if people are trying to run your life without your consent."

"How will I serve my people _now_?" Merril wailed. "I was supposed to be a Keeper who protects her Clan and preserves the old histories and traditions of the Elvhen. I was given this power by the Creators in order to serve the People, if I can't serve then what's the point of me existing at all?"

"Oh..." Anders said, looking brought up short.

There was a long pause while he clearly searched for something to say to that and Merrill started crying again. He rallied quickly.

"Uh, just because you can't serve your own clan anymore or the other Dalish for that matter, doesn't mean you can't find some other way to help your people," he said.

"The Eluvian is destroyed and I'm exiled, how am I supposed to help the elvhen?" Merrill sobbed.

"Well there's plenty of other elves," Anders said with a cheer edged with desperation. "You could help _them_!"

Merrill paused, hiccuping and looked at him with cautious hope.

"How?" she asked finally. "The shem cities are controlled by shem, and they don't see the need to not oppress my people. Plus, they don't seem to like magic much either, if started using my magic openly, they'd probably lock me up."

"Well... Here!" Anders brightened. "Why don't you help me in the clinic?"

Fenris and Merrill both looked at him skeptically.

"There's plenty of elves that come to me for Healing, you could help them all that way."

"I don't know how to Heal," Merrill said dully, looking like she was going to start crying again. "I'm useless!"

"No, no, you're not useless," Anders said desperately. "And look, just because you don't know something doesn't mean you can't learn it. I'll teach you how to be a Healer, so please stop crying."

"Y-you will?" Merrill said, looking cautiously hopeful.

Fenris rolled his eyes.

"He wants to teach the blood witch to heal, _this_ can't end well," he remarked caustically.

"Hush," Anders shushed him. "But that does remind me though; seriously, if I'm going to teach you, you can't use blood magic. I can't have it around me."

"I was going to give it up anyway," Merrill replied. "I only took it up to cleanse the mirror and since that's been destroyed there's no reason for me to practice that magic. The cost is... high. It'll be a relief to give it up."

"We'll see how long that lasts," Fenris said in disbelief.

"My Goddess disapproves," Merrill replied. "And has made her disapproval quite plain. Clearly I must find another way to serve the People."

Fenris huffed a sigh, knowing what she was referring to, and repressed a small feeling that might be mistaken for hope. Merrill was pretty serious abut her heathen Goddess, sometimes as serious as any vowed Chantry sister, maybe if her own new-found wariness of the cost of blood magic wasn't enough to deter her from the lures of its powers, her heathen faith would be.

"Well it's settled then!" Anders said. "You can come help me at my clinic in Darktown."

Fenris shook his head at Anders, wondering how in the world he thought that having the clumsy, naive, childish little mage underfoot was going to be anything other than a complete disaster. Merrill yawned after she'd washed her plate and spoon, the grief and events of the day having clearly worn her out, she curled up in a blanket in a nest with her halla, taking some sort of comfort from having the two beasts nearby. Probably reminded her of growing up in her clan.

"You're crazed, mage," Fenris said to Anders after Merrill had dropped off to sleep. "You've seen what she's like. And you, of all people, think _you_ can be a teacher, a guide? This is not going to end well."

"Merrill's lost her only family, her home, and her hopes for the future," Anders said in quiet reply. "I remember what that's like. I'm not perfect, but she needs something to grasp onto or she's going to be set adrift. If she's set adrift she'll be prey for those who might take advantage of her vulnerability to use for their own ends."

"Like you're doing?" Fenris replied. "You said yourself she's good at making medicine and knows where to find supplies for them for free. Perhaps your offer for teaching has been nothing more than your wish for her skill."

"Look, think what you want," Anders snapped irritatedly. "Maker knows you will anyway. I think of Merrill as a friend and, though this may come as a complete surprise to you, friends help each other when they need it. Whether or not she's good with medicine I'd have still offered her the sense of purpose she clearly needs, even if all she could do was roll bandages. As it stands, I think the task of mastering a new skill will help her manage her grief. She's naturally cheerful and optimistic, I'm sure she'll be fine in no time."

"It's not necessarily her I'm worried about," fenris said dryly. "It's your poor patients."

Anders sighed and shook his head, but said nothing more. Fenris looked into the fire for a while, finding a strangely contemplative mood settle over him. He'd been surprised by the strange revelation of Merrill's character and worldview that her grief had pulled out of her. She truly felt that her magic and her training made her a servant to her people. Her first thoughts had not been for her own loss of power and prestige, as Danarius' would have been, but for the loss of opportunity to help and comfort the people she cared for. A must un-mage-like mage, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit it. I have no excuse. I've had this chapter written since I posted the last one and... well I just never posted it. I'd like to thank everyone who has read and reveiwed and expressed and interest in this story so far and I promise you all that there will be many many any more chapters to enjoy in the near future. So thank you all once again and I hope you like where this is going.


	26. Chapter 26

Her little hovel in the Alienage in Kirkwall did not look as welcoming as it once had. Merrill found herself strangely reluctant to enter it, as though the act of stepping over the threshold would make her exile final. She'd returned to the city five nights ago, parting ways with Anders and Fenris, ad had camped herself out under the vhehenandhal, feeling hollow and empty inside. She felt bereft of life ad purpose, set adrift and filled with sorrow. The city elves clearly wondered why she slept under a tree in the middle of their hex when she had a perfectly good little cave-house waiting for her, but either respected her privacy too much to ask, or simply didn't care. Merrill grieved for the life shed left behind.

Merrill sat under the venendhal in the center of their hex in the Alienage and looked at it and wondered what her life would be now. She had always dreamed of fixing the Eluvian and returning to her people. In her heart, her time in the Alienage had been a temporary stop while she did her work and then went back where she belonged. As such, she'd never felt the need to really connect with the other elves in the Alienage, not really had to truly think of them as being "her people." The Dalish were her people, city elves were sadly misguided members of her race that had lost their sense of being elvhen.

: _I suppose I can't afford to think of them that way now_ ,: Merrill thought, listening to the soothing song of the wind whisper through the tops of the tree she sat under.

It had begun to occur to her, slowly, that perhaps she should never have thought about them in that manner in the first place. When she looked around her, she did see a great deal of poerty, oppression, crime, even privation... but she didn't see submission. The shem might rule the city of Kirkwall, and thus the Alienage where the elves were crammed in to, but the elves that lived there didn't seem to much care about the goings on outside thier Alienage, save where it afected them. They didn't seem to acknowledge that the shem had any natural superiority over them.

: _In short, it doesn't feel as though the elves here have lost thier pride_ ,: Merrill thought.

The Dalish all though that the city-elves had all lost their pride simply because they chose to live in the cities under the rule of the shem, Merrill was slowly coming to understand that that view was not the way that the city elves saw themselves.

: _And perhaps it is the way they see themselves that is really what's important here. These elves... they have a sense of identity as elves, just like teh Dalish do. And they are every but as proud of that identity as the Dalish are_.:

It was a surprising revelation to her, and Merrill could see that it was going to take a little bit of time, and some hard thought to cast aside her own prejudices a a Dalish to understand her "new" people. The Dalish were proud of themselves and identified themselves as being the keepers of the lore and culture of the true elvhen, they kept the ancient ways and worshiped the old gods in preparation for the day when it would at last be needed again. But what did these elves do? How did they feel about their place in the world? Surely their culture was every bit as rich as that of the Dalish, Merrill saw evidence of it everywhere in the Alienage, a culture that lived alongside the shem but was secretly subversive to the Chantry teachings. She just needed to understand it better.

The vhenandhal was brightly painted in elfknots, surrounded by shrines and momentos with brilliantly sparkling whirligigs hanging from the lowest branches to ctch the sun and wind. These were all clearly significant to the people who lived in the alienage, evidence of a rich private culture that Merrill had dismissed out of hand simply because it did not fit what she felt that elvhen culture should be. Her city cousins had clearly adapted long-held beliefs and values to the life in the city. They were like dandelions growing up through the cracks in stone, forcing the natural back into the unnatural.

: _I've lived here for years and I barely know anything about them, other than the fact that these city elves live in base poverty under the rule of the Shem. They can't hold anything but the meanest occupations, their employers are not required by law to pay them if they don't want to, and they cannot hold property. Even thier lives are forfiet to Purges if the human's should feel threatened by them. It's all so unfair, why do they put up with it_?:

It was a question that had puzzled the Dalish for as long as the Dalish had existed. Why did the city elves put up with such injustice? Why did they suffer to live on a begrudging pittance offered with a feeling of sufferance from their overlords? Why didn't they just leave? Was their pride broken?

_:If I'm going to live among them and serve them instead of my clan, I suppose I just make a greater effort to understand them_ ,: Merrill told herself.

The problem was that she was socially awkward even among her own people. Being with city elves was almost like being among the Shem. Their thoughts seemed so alien, and she wasn't sure how to connect with them, or if they would welcome her if she tried to. She missed her clan even more now that she knew that her time in the city was not temporary but permanent. She wanted to go home! She wanted to go back to the life she knew, back to the familiar routines, back to the ways and customs she so treasured. She wanted the sense of belonging she'd always felt at being valued and useful when she helped her Keeper.

"Merrill?" a voice said in surprise off to her right.

Merrill looked over to see Aveline, dressed as a guard-captain, apparently out on patrol. It was rare for the shem to poke their nose in the Alienage, as most seemed to feel that the Alienage could handle its own affairs. Aveline felt, however, that everyone in the city was under her care, shemlen or otherwise. It was what made her such a good guard, she started by being a good person.

"Hullo Aveline," Merrill said from where she sat.

"I... had heard that you were..." Aveline trailed off, clearly discomfited by bringing up what was likely a very painful subject while the wound was still fresh. "I'd heard you were sleeping outside," she said instead.

"The weather here in Kirkwall never seems to get truly cold at night, and I've never been entirely behind the idea of sleeping surrounded by stone," Merrill said.

When Merrill looked around at the Alienage and the rest of the city, and all she saw was cold, lifeless, barren stone. The city elves had tried to warm it and make it feel more natural by hanging banners of green to simulate trees, but it was nothing more than the palest imitation. It did nothing to soften the series of rough cavelets that had hollowed out of the rock centuries ago when Kirkwall had been a stone quarry carved by slaves. The resulting apartments hollowed from the stone were structurally questionable, cave-ins were not unheard of. Merrill knew that city elves crammed themselves in multiple family groups to a single set of cave-like rooms, as tough they were dwarves and not elves!

_:Well..._ : Merrill corrected herself. : _That's not entirely accurate. The elves of ancient Arlathan used stone in their structures too_.:

However, the buildings of her ancestors had been works of artistic beauty that had harmoniously blended nature with magic using elegantly crafted workmanship in a whole that had melded practicality with beauty. Merrill and her Keeper had once spent an entire summer in an elvhen ruin when she had been ten years old, studying the way ancient elvhen architecture had operated. Every home in the city had been like a house woven into a garden or a garden woven into a house. An ecosystem in miniature had been carefully shaped and cultivated by magic, an ecosystem that purified water and removed waste (without those awful Shem sewers!) as well as provided food and in some cases useful medicines and eliminated pests. But that had all been long ago, in a very distant past.

"You've been out here for a week, or so I'm told," Aveline said. "Is there a problem with your..."

She looked at the cavelet scratched out of the stone of the ancient rock-quarry that Merrill had taken residence in.

"Your dwelling," she settled on.

"No..." Merrill said reluctantly. "It's just..."

Aveline ventured further into the courtyard of First Hex and, in a gesture of solidarity that Merrill hadn't been expecting but felt strangely warmed by, sat down beside er under the leaves of the vhenandhal.

"I know I'm certainly not the most empathetic person to confide in, but I can promise you that I will not mock you if you need to cry nor will I betray your confidences to another if you wish to share them," Aveline said with gruff, discomfited gentleness.

It was clear to Merrill that Aveline was very uncomfortable with displays of emotions as they were not something she could hit with her sword, or solve easily. Nonetheless, she was there, trying to be a good friend to a person she admittedly shared very little in common with. Merrill felt herself warmed ad touched by the gesture. It made her feel a lot less alone.

"I've been sitting here because I don't want to go in. It's not that there's anything wrong with the place I live, it's a very fine, if strange, place. It's just that... it'll feel real then. It feels like if I cross that threshold I'll be leaving behind a part of my life that was so important to me and then I'll have to accept this new way as the way I live from now on. It's terribly lonely, and frightening. I don't know what to do."

Aveline had an unusually soft look on her face.

"it feels strange to say this, but I understand how you feel."

Merrill blinked at her in surprise. Aveline seemed always so capable and so strong, like she never suffered from a moments doubt, nor made entirely the wrong decisions, nor... any of the sorrowful, melancholy feelings that Merrill suffered. She was like a bulwark of strength. Merrill almost couldn't imagine Aveline understanding how she felt when she felt so very lost.

"You do?" she asked, trying very hard not to sound skeptical.

"When I had lived in Fereldan, before the Blight," she said. "I had a life, a husband, a home. I had to leave them all after Ostragar in order to escape to safety. My Wesley died along the way. I came here with the Hawke family with nothing but my armor and my sword. I had to make a new life, leaving everything of my old life behind."

Merrill then understood.

"It was frightening at first," she admitted, much to Merrill's surprise. "And even with the Hawkes, it was lonely. But..."

Aveline made an approximation of a comforting smile. It still managed to look stern and serious on her face, but she was clearly making an effort.

"I joined the guards, and found a new purpose with them, keeping this city and it's inhabitants safe," she said. "It's hard most days, but I find that I like the challenge. Most importantly, I find that I like the sense of purpose it gives me. I told you once, Merrill that you're very talented, and that I could see you are meant for great things. That hasn't changed. I know you think you've lost everything you've cared for, but sometimes that's just a way of finding something new or different."

"But what about my people?" she asked, desperately. "I was raised from the cradle to serve my clan and my people. I am outcast now. It doesn't matter how talented I am if... if there's no-one for me to serve. I've always ever just wanted to help."

"Who says you can't still do that?" Aveline said with a firm nod of approval. "That's what I was trying to get at in the first place. I might have lost my home and place in Fereldan, but I found a new family here, and a people who need me just as much. There's no reason why you can't do the same. Make _this_ your home. Make these people _your_ people. You'll find a new sense of purpose if you do, I promise you that."

It was as if a wind blew through her soul at Aveline's words, picking up the dried, dead leaves of her sense of loss and sorrow and hopelessness, and bringing strength and renewal. Aveline was right! Even if she couldn't be among the Dalish anymore, that didn't mean she'd stopped being an elf altogether. She'd been taught from the cradle that mages served the People, and she was a mage. There were plenty of people right there that she could serve, and she knew just how she could get started! Suddenly feeling uplifted Merrill's eyes teared up a little, and she threw her arms around the guard captain, who stiffened and very clearly tried not to feel too uncomfortable with Merrill rampant display of affection.

"Thank-you Aveline," Merrill said, when she was done with her need to embrace the one who had brought her the wisdom and counsel she needed, just when she needed it most.

"You're welcome Merrill," Aveline said with surprising gentleness, then ruined it a moment later by reverting back to her guard-captain self. "Just... try to stay out of trouble."

Merrill smiled brightly and looked up into the green leaves of the tree arching above her head. She felt the strange, hollow city-wind on her face whisper through the branches of the vhenandhal and thought that maybe her exile had not been without purpose.

: _The Goddess tied me to a city elf after all_ ,: Merrill reluctantly concluded. : _Perhaps She has a purpose in mind. Perhaps She wishes me still to serve. Am I a mage who serves the elvhen or am I not?_ :

Well, of course she was a mage who served her people, that was _why_ she was a mage. Keepers served and protected the Clans, Firsts learned from and assisted them. She was still a First of course, so perforce she must learn all she could in order to serve her new people.

_:Then I suppose it's high time I stopped wallowing,_ : Merrill told herself.

She was a naturally optimistic sort of person, and even the greatest grief could only chain her soul for so long before she went in search of something to cure it with. There were _plenty_ of things for her to learn, and plenty of ways she could help, she wasn't going to do any of them if she just sat under a tree for the rest of her days.

: _Anders did say I was welcome to come and study Healing magic with him in his clinic,_ : she thought. : _And everyone could always use another Healer. If nothing else, I suppose it'll be a new challenge for me. And I know I'll find a way to be useful_.:

Merrill rose to her feet and stretched a great stretch, feeling as though she were shaking off the weight of the world the way a dog shook water from its fur, she took up her staff and headed towards Darktown.


	27. Chapeter 27

Fenris kept his face an inscrutable mask, the same mask he had developed over a lifetime as a slave (where the least hint of rebellion or disapproval towards ones master could spell terrible punishments, or even death). The man before him didn't look like what anyone would have thought of when they thought the word spy. Most people thought spies were like the Varric depicted them in his stories; enthrallingly attractive, weilding weapons and words with equal skill and grace, suave, debonair, well-dressed... and so forth. He imagined the gullible little magelet, who read Varrics tales and seemed to think them an accurate depiction of life in the cities, would be most disappointed to discover the spy Fenris currently had employed. He was a balding, pudgy man of middling years with a non-nondescript face that could be best characterized as "face-shaped." He looked like someone's harried clerk, not a man who could move sensitive information from out of the most well-guarded establishments and across countries in a matter of days. Fenris had hired him on the recommendation of Varric, to hunt down any rumors of the sister that Hardianna had spoken of, Varania. So far, the man had come up with more information about _him,_ rather than his relatives.

Fenris had little interest in the fact that there had been other trials by other magisters to replicate a lyrium warrior like Fenris, and they had all ended in failure. The only thing that ment to Fenris was the potential that there might be more parties interested in acquiring him than just Danarius, the others would probably like to study him as well.

: _However, it is unlikely that any of the other magisters will send any bounty hunters after me, at least not yet. They've likely heard how costly I've made it for Danarius to send bounty hunters after me and are more than willing to let their rival spend his own coin trying to bring me back to Tevinter, thinking that they'll swoop in once Danarius has me so they can make their own experiments._ :

Even Fenris wasn't quite sure why he was still the only one of his kind. Or rather, that wasn't quite accurate, he could think of a few reasons for it. Gathering as much lyrium as had been alloyed with the iron in his blood, and grafted into his skin was an expensive undertaking to begin with, and most magisters woud far rather use that lyrium themselves than waste it on a slave who, as had happened with Danarius, could turn against him. He knew that Danarius had promised the magisterium a host of lyrium soldiers, all with enhanced strength, stamina and incredible powers to fight against the Qunari in Seheron, but it was a bit of a mystery why he had so far failed to deliver on his promise. Danarius' detractors were quick to say that "Fenris" was a freak success, an experiment that could not be replicated due to some sort of unknown variable.

: _Even I don't know how I turned out so well when every other slave since has died of the procedure,_ : Fenris thought, examining the tips of his fingers as he waited for the spy to finish his meal and make his report. : _At least, according to rumor_.:

Fenris knew very well that the spy was studying him, and he knew that he knew it, and he knew that he knew that he knew and everyone was comfortable with all of the knowing going on.

"Right, well," the spy, who called himself Athos, said, clearing his throat and rinsing down his mince pie with a swallow of ale. "I believe I've located her."

Fenris allowed his face to show nothing, though his heart felt like it skipped a beat.

"She's a liberati. Lives in the liberti free-quarter district "Hangdog."

Fenris wondered if he actually blanched or if he kept his dismay from showing on his face. An unpurchased slave lived in the Markets, which were hellish in and of themselves, but at least they had the burly strong-man enforcers of the marketplace to keep order. The liberati lived in so-called "free quarters" outside the walls of the city proper, rather like alienages only not nearly as nice. In fact, Darktown would have been considered a palatial improvement over the conditions in the liberati free quarters.

The free quarters were divided up into eight districts and each of those districts considered itself its own little country, with its own little warlord king (or queen) and its own unique rules. Lest one ever equate a ruler and rules with order, one should bear in mind that a large number of those rules affirmed the traditional and long-cherished hegemony of killing ones superior either in combat or by assassination in order to gain in rank. The streets of every liberati free-quarter were patchworks of territories run by smaller, petty gangs with their own little warlords who warred with all of the other little warlords in interminable turf wars, each trying to claim more prestige and get their own little petty warlord powerful enough strong enough and ruthless enough to make a bid for the "crown" so to speak. The Free quarters of the liberati were, violent, dirty places where even the most "well off" lived in dilapidated hovels. Most liberati children, if they had the great fortune to live to the age of ten and weren't immediately taken in by the nearest gang, usually ended up selling themselves into slavery just to escape living on the streets in the free quarters.

"Hangdog? You are certain?" Fenris questioned, wanting to be sure.

Hangdog was district seven out of eight. The first districts nearest the walls of Minrathous had the closest resemblance to civilization, the city guards liked it that way because it gave them the illusion that matters everywhere were just good enough that there was no need to interfere. The districts further out had murder pits where "justice" and entertainment were at the whims of the warlord. Even the magisters, who regularly went to watch gladiators fight one another, often o the death, in the arenas would have been horrified at the carnage in a free quarter murder pit. It made him fearful for this sister he could not remember, that she was somehow living in such a place.

"Certain as I can be," Athos relied. "She works for a miserly, abusive little mistress in district two who takes in sewing. Varania uses the bare pittance she receives in payment to bribe the local ganglords to leave her alone."

Athos waited a beat.

"Do you wish to contact her?"

Hope warred with Fenris long-held caution. It could be a trap. Danarius could have sent Hadrianna here to give him that information in the first place, in the hopes that it would make him curious enough to investigate, curious enough to come closer and then...

: _But if it's true_?: an agonized hope fought within him.

If it was true, he'd be abandoning his only family, the one person he could connect with without troubles, to an existence he would throw a half-rabid dog into for fear of what woud happen to the dog.

: _Besides, you did not start this with the intention of moving in half-measures,_ : he told himself.

He should not have expected that, even with his apparent self-sacrifice, things would still have turned out well for his family. He was in a position to help now, he had extra coin stored up, he could bring her away from those slums and...

: _And into these slums,_ : he thought dryly.

Keeping her at the mansion probably wasn't a very good idea. He expected Danarius to return and try to claim it, and him, thus his sister stood a good chance of being caught in the crossfire. It would have to be the alienage, a place where even a Tevinter elf wouldn't stand out too much. He did have one contact there, and all things considered, it might not be a bad idea.

"Yes," he decided at last. "I will have a note for you tomorrow to deliver to her."

He couldn't very well write it then and there as he could neither read nor write. He was sensitive about showing his ignorance to an outsider, let the man think he was making other sorts of arrangements in the meantime.

"Very well, I will visit here again in the morning to collect the contact, and my pay," Athos replied.

Engaging his services hadn't been cheap, but he'd been looking for a single needle in a rather sizable haystack, and Athos had delivered.

Fenris nodded and left the establishment. The streets outside were quiet for that time of night, it seemed the dog-lords and other street gangs that roamed the night were already busy elsewhere. The walk back to Hightown in the warm Kirkwall night was almost pleasant. It had been about a week since he had returned from that impromptu trip to the Sundermount and in that time he had assiduously avoided contact with the little witch in the alienage... but he knew she was there. He could still feel her, there in the back of his mind like a whisper of wind across his skin. He knew that she was depressed and unhappy at the thought of making the strange city and its equally alien elves her new home. The very fact that he could sense her at all unnerved him. He was accustomed to at least having privacy within his own thoughts, but now found that he shared the space with an unwelcome visitor. True, it was a visitor that either wasn't aware she was there or purely didn't care (or was already wrapped up in her own problems) but she was nonetheless an intruder.

: _It has only been a week_ ,: he told himself. : _Perhaps this strange connection takes longer to fray and snap than a mere few days._ :

The elves that had been experimented on in Tevinter had remained tied together no matter what torturous process they had been put through, but apparently their soulbonds had already been awakened whereas the one that he and the little mageling shared was still mostly asleep. Hopefully that would be enough to keep things from getting out of hand. He'd sensed slight change in the tenor of her thought earlier that afternoon and it had made him a little curious, but in his world curiosity killed the cat, or in his case, possibly caught the slave, so he'd very determinedly kept himself away from her.

His run-down residence in hightown was as messy and dilapidated as ever when he returned to it, but Fenris felt better one he was relatively safe behind its reinforced walls. He checked his jury-rigged security measures to see if any of his traps or warnings had been tampered with, and they hadn't so he proceeded up to the one little area in the house he did live in. He ignored most of the rest of the mansion as though it didn't exist, mostly because he'd turned it into a gauntlet-like series of booby traps to deter intruders and warn him of an impending attack by his masters hirelings, but the private bedroom he'd staked out for himself was cozy and lived in. There was lute he'd discovered in a closed off room resting against a table. Fenris often whiled away solitary hours by playing it and never ceasing to be amazed that he knew how to. There were books scattered about from the bookshelves, but he used them as window props and trays to hold his food rather than reading materiel.

Fenris removed his belt of pouches and loosened his breastplate and greaves as he flopped down into the bed and stared tiredly at the ceiling, torn a little by hope and fear.Restlessly, he grabbed the lute from its corner, tuned it and started to pluck idly at its strings in a soothing nothing-tune. Sometimes it helped him think.

He was going to bring his sister here. Part of him was looking forward to meeting his family, thirsty for the contact and the implied natural affection that he had seen Hawke and his sibling share. He wanted that, but he very much feared that it was going to be his undoing. He was taking an enormous risk. Danarius could still, somehow, read his interest and use it against him.

: _I will be cautious. If it looks for a moment like its a trap, I will back away,_ : he promised himself.

Some things were worth the risk. He had a sister, she was blood, family and possibly all he might have in the world. It was his responsibility to see that she was taken care of. His decision made, he did feel better, more determined and less like second-guessing himself. He put the lute away next to the fireplace and turned toward his bed with the intention of going to sleep but his eye caught on an aberration. His finger tip looked a little bit strange...

Fenris' markings went all the way up his fingers where they thinned out in tiny spirals at the very tips. The lyrium brands themselves gleamed a milky blue-white like opals when the light hit them, glowing like cats eyes in the night. The ones at his fingertips however...

_:That's different_ ,: he thought uneasily.

For as long as he'd had them, his markings had all be uniform, but strangely, now his fingertip-markings were a little bit different. He wouldn't have noticed ordinarily, as his body was usually covered by his armor, but with his hands bare he could see the very very slight difference in the way the gleamed when the light hit them. The gleaming reflection in his lyrium brands usually reflected back clearly like moonstones, but the brands on the tips of his fingers now looked cloudy. He turned his hands this way and that examining them minutely. hey looked now a little like glass that had been covered over with frost, the reflection of their surface was cloudy.

: _I wonder what this means,_ : he thought with a tremor of dread.

He was the only successful lyrium warrior of his sort. He had the honor and burden of this strange and great power. He had paid its price, he continued to pay its price everyday that he fought to keep himself free. Sadly, he knew deep down, that his great advantage, his great power was also, potentially, a great weakness. No-one really knew how it worked, and thus if something were to go wrong with whatever had been done to him, they likely would not know any warning signs, nor would they know how to fix it. The only one who did, his former master Danarius, was just as likely taking a stab in the dark as the next person. Fenris had to hope that... nothing would go wrong. Unfortunately, that meant in his book, that it most assuredly would.

: _This will bear watching,_ : he thought, looking at the frosted matte-finish on the lyrium on the tips of his fingers. : _But at present, I have other matters to be concerned with._ :

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout-out to those who have reviewed so far and I'm glad you like the story. As of the previous chapter we're now in the unofficial second half of Soulbond and there's still plenty more to come.  
> On another note however, how many more of you out there are like me and think that there just isn't enough Fenrill out there? Well there could potentially be more Fenrill. Written by me. I have a few things that I've been working on, but here's the thing. I can't post anything without naming it first. Titles make me nervous because they're the first little hook you get to try to make people intrigued enough with your work to want to possibly pick it up and maybe even read it. So I want some suggestions. Just anything to help me out. Help? Please?


	28. Chapter 28

When Merrill arrived to lend her promised aid to Anders' clinic, the line of sick and injured had spread even as far as the area leading up to the clinic proper, and the antechamber inside away from where the actual Healing took place was crammed full of chaos. Harried-looking aides were trying to sort people by urgency. It was hard to tell which could be diagnosed and treated by conventional medicine and which were true emergencies requiring the aid of a full Healer in all the ruckus. One of the clinic's aides recognized Merrill (or at least her staff) and allowed her to go through to the clinic proper where Anders worked. When she poked her head inside, she saw Anders glowing blue-white with his hands molding spirit-magic to Heal a patient lying on the table in the room. A long line of other patients waited for him when he was done.

"Anders?" Merrill called softly, not wanting to break his concentration and possibly harm the patient.

"Hm? he murmured absently, his attention clearly focused on his patient.

"Ive come to help... what do you need me to do?" she asked.

"Help with the patients," he replied, his tone indicating he was busy and did not wish to be disturbed.

Her brow furrowed in puzzlement. Help how? That wasn't very specific.

_:Well, he did say I could learn Healing from him,:_ Merrill thought.

She very much doubted, however, that he meant for her to just start flinging magic about. Marethari had always made her watch and observe carefully a new form of magic for several days if not weeks so she came to a full and natural understanding of the method and environment of a spell before her Keeper would truly teaching it to her. He probably meant for Merrill to observe first. Well, she could do that. 

_:In fact, I can even help with the patients a little bit. I might not be a Healer, but I still know how to diagnose a large number of sicknesses just fine. Marethari taught me how when I lived in the Clan. I can at least start sorting all of this lot here, so Anders has an easier time with his duty!:_

Merrill had next to no experience with spirit-healing, but she _was_ a blood mage. It as true that blood magic had a large amount of negative applications, but there were some positives. Many, many, many sicknesses that existed were carried in the blood and that was how it attacked the body. She needn't even use active blood magic to diagnose a condition, diagnosis of the blood was a passive effect and so it shouldn't raise any alarm bells.

Merrill nodded firmly to herself. In some cases it was simply easier to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, as the Shem saying went. The people who were here came because they needed help and healing but medicine was as esoteric to them as magic, all they knew was that something was wrong and they needed some way to fix it. Merrill would be doing a tremendous service to the Healer if she could weed out those cases which were true emergencies from those who would be fine with a simple drought and a check up the following morning. Plus, she could use her diagnostic ability to give Anders a headstart by not having him waste time figuring out what was wrong before he went after it.

_:Keeper Marethari always said that if one is going to assume authority, then is is best to act as though one simply has an unquestioned right to it.:_

She had cautioned her young apprentice about the dangers of appearing too weak as a leader, leading to the possibility that those she would lead would not respect her command. Her advice about posture and expression came back to Merrill, and so she took a deep breath, straightened her spine, fixed her face in an approximation of Marethari at her sternest and most commanding, then turned on her heel and marched right back out to the waiting room like a woman on a mission. Merrill picked the first sick-looking patient she saw, marched right up to him, and held out her hand in a peremptory gesture.

"Your hand please," she said with what she hoped was firm politeness, with an aura hat said she was making it a request but it was one she expected to be obeyed.

The man, slumped down and riddled with what looked like pox scars, unthinkingly proffered his hand. Merrill grasped it firmly, and before he could question her (or she could question herself) she poked him with a long needle on the tip of his finger. She squeezed firmly, and a single drop of blood welled up on the tip of his finger. Merrill ignored the soft, pulsing call of its power, concentrating instead on decoding the living mysteries contained within it.

She sensed the almost crystalline structure at its core, the esoteric template within that made up all that the man before her was; tall, fair, human, dark-eyed, light-haired, born with a slight breathing problem. She ignored the codex and concentrated instead of the foreign matter darting and squirming within his blood. She could sense an old, latent strain of illness, one that had been contracted and fought off long ago, dormant in his blood, but dismissed it quickly as being on no relevancy to his current condition. The cause for concern, she noted a bare moment later, was what she read as poison at first. Then her instinctive blood-sense increased, granting her greater sensitivity, and she came to understand that the poison was one that he was regularly exposed to but it was not one that was entirely harmful... she read the symptoms that the "poison" had on his body, the hallucinogenic properties, the general feeling of well-being, the addictive qualities.

: _Oh_!: she realized a moment later with a feeling of consternation. _:This man is taking drugs!:_

A momentary closer "look" into the structure of the latest poison compared to earlier poisonings revealed that the structure of its make up was slightly different. A bad batch most likely.

She was not trained as a Healer, and it was not her place to usurp Anders authority within his own clinic. It would be the same as Merrill walking into the camp of another Clan without announcing herself and pretending to be Keeper. She could however, make his task a little easier, she was there to help after all. Merrill summoned up a simple spell she knew of that would leave a "smear" of light from her fingertip and wrote on his forehead. She detailed the nature of the drug the Shem was using and why he was sick. She thought about reccommending that he be weaned away from his addiction but didn't want to usurp even the smallest measure of Anders authority within his own clinic; he was the Keeper and she was the First, it was her place to support him, not to take over his command. She left the diagnosis as it was and moved on to the next patient.

She found herself examining a young female surface dwarf, which was odd for they were normally a hardy people. The patient was sun-struck, Merrill could tell that without needing to draw any blood. Still, out of fairness, she checked her eyes and looked in her ears and searched out other obvious places that symptoms of smething else might hide and only then did she wrote her diagnosis on the forehead of the girl before she moved on.

The next person she came across was a small female human child; pale, shaking and sweating. Merrill poked her with the needle right away and discovered a virulent sickness in her blood, one that was hard to see and decode easily from the drop of blood. It was a lot like trying to read very, very fine print; the information was there but it was so compact that it was difficult to understand. Fortunately, Merrill had a bit of a solution. The time she had spent studying the Eluvian and trying to restore it had not been without merit; she might not have unlocked _all_ of its secrets but she had gleaned _some_ useful information from it. If she couldn't see the blood-code easily with her own senses, she needed a way to magnify things for a better look.

_:I need a mirror, and a source of light,_ : she thought.

Merrill had a small compact mirror that Isabella had given her, insisting that a beautiful woman should never be without a way to tell herself that she was beautiful. Merrill kept it as a sun-signal and a sign of friendship. There was Anders' lantern nearby.

"Clear a path!" she commanded the patients loitering in the waiting area.

She pulled the child along behind her and stopped directly before the lantern. She pulled the mirror from an inner pocket and closed her eyes, summoning the complex spell in her mind. It used the air and light-reflection to create a magically enlarged copy of whatever was on the surface of the mirror written in light in the air before the caster. The surface of Merrill's mirror glowed softly in her hand, a misty nimbus hanging in the air over its surface when she brought it into the circle of light created by the lantern. She pushed the drop of blood from the child's finger on the surface of the mirror and concentrated hard, manipulating the spell. The image in the air expanded showing all of te complex little "bits" that was what blood was made of, then Merrill manipulated the spell, tightening its field of vision, honing in on the problem area so she coud come to a faster understanding of what was going on inside of her. Her blood looked like a battlefield; large, blobby foreign bits were attacking disc-shaped red bits with sickle shaped white bits defending the red bits and fighting off the blobby foreign bits.

_:Ah! I recognize this one,:_ Merrill thought with a feeling of relief.

It was, thankfully, treatable, but conventional ingredients for it were expensive because many of them were imported. Merrill knew of a recipe that used elfroot and a few other herbs that could be grown with relative ease, but she wasn't certain how it would work on a human, much less a child. Still, she wrote out on the childs forehead what her sickness was, how far along it was, how much time she likely had before the next phase, and what the known cures were (though privately she trusted that Anders was a more than good enough Healer to know that). She patted the child's hand and wiped her mirror clean, readying it for the next diagnosis. It was easier to use the mirror to magnify the blood for a closer look rather than "squint" at it (magically speaking). Additionally, there was far less chance she'd miss something important.

The two harried-looking assistants, seeing that she was doing some sort of arcane magical skill with the patients, naturally thought that Anders had brought her in to help. While technically this was true, he _had_ invited her to assist him, he hadn't actually assigned her any duties yet, being too busy saving a person's life at the time. Still, Merrill didn't have to actually use healing magic to help out, accurate diagnosis, her Keeper had once told her, was often even more important than trying to cure the patient. If it was something obvious and non-life threatening, she could shuffle them to the side to be treated by conventional medicine instead of taxing a Healer's valuable magical reserves on something not very important. The more serious cases she could pull to one side for Anders to look at once he was finished with the true emergencies. She had performed the same function for Marethari on more than one occasion as part of her duties as First for the Clan so she was confident in her ability to do this much at least.

As Merrill worked her way through the waiting room she saw that matters at the clinic were not as bad as she had originally thought they were based on her walking into the waiting room and seeing a mass of people smelling of sickness and injury. There were a number of people (not, unfortunately, a majority, but a number of people) that were easy to tell what was wrong with them just by looking at them; broken leg, crushed hand, gash to the side and other obvious reasons for them to be seeking a Healer. There were cases where Merrill could plainly see that something was wrong when she looked at a magnified drop of their blood, but she lacked the experience to recognize what it was, so she simply wrote out the symptoms and her observations of the behavior of their blood and left it to the trained Healer to sort out.

It was hours later, when even Anders had to be approaching the limits of what he could endure to spend magically, when the two women working a the clinic who seemed to perform a combination of patient-sorter and door-guardian called a halt to incoming cases except for true, life-threatening emergencies. Merrill realized then that she'd been there all day and hadn't eaten anything. The eldest of the women manning the clinic offered Merrill meal of plain bread gone slightly stale and cheese. Merrill was too hungry to be choosy by this point and tore into it. She hadn't really been using much magic, but the patients had run her off her feet nonetheless.

"Merrill," Anders called from back in his clinic.

His tone was surprisingly brusque and Merrill hoped it was because he was tired and not that he was upset with her for some reason. Had she overstepped herself somehow? She hoped not.

"Coming!" Merrill called back around her mouthful of food. She hastily got back on her feet and walked through the doors into the clinic proper, trying not to feel like a da'len called before the Hahren for some infraction or other.

"I thought I said _no_ blood magic," he said tiredly upon seeing her. "I only made _one_ request and you couldn't even keep that one up. If word gets out that I'm harboring a blood mage in this clinic, everything I've worked for will be ruined!"

His tone, while weary was sharp with anger and he glowed a bit blue at the end. Merrill quailed a bit inside, upset that she had failed her teacher already on her very first day! Still, she had to say something in her defense because he didn't understand what she'd done, not really.

"It's not blood magic!" Merrill protested, distressed. "I never touched the power in any of the samples, I just read the code in the blood and looked at what the... uh.... I don't know the words for them, the littlet living "bits" were doing to help me diagnose the illness so I could see if there wasn't anything I was missing. I was just trying to be thorough. Keeper Marethari and i used a similar skill when we treated Mahariel for the blight. The mirror I just used to magnify things so I could see them more clearly. If anything, mostly it was _eluvian inan erathi_."

Anders brow furrowed in puzzlement at the unfamiliar elven vocabulary, but he seemed willing to listen, which was good. He took a deep breath, clearly to calm himself and said severely.

"Okay. You say it's not blood magic, I suppose I will accept that because I know you don't lie, Merrill." He sighed. "But people see you pricking fingers and taking blood, and then clearly performing magic, what _else_ would they think?"

"Oh,"Merrill said, feeling a bit put out. "Well, I suppose... I hadn't thought of that."

She was _never_ going to get used to these Shem-nan and these peoples ridiculous terror of anything and everything magical! Granted, the Keepers didn't generally practice the art openly, but the Clan didn't fear them if they saw one or two minor spells being worked.

"I just wanted to be useful," she finished, apologetically.

"I know," Anders said tiredly. "Just... try and remember, that, even though they come here for magical Healing, they only do so out of necessity and not because they _like_ magic."

Then Anders gave her a small tired smile.

"Reading the code of the blood? I've never heard of such a thing, and I've studied a lot of Healing magic. Why didn't you just use magic to diagnose them?"

"It's wasteful," Merrill replied. "And... Well... I don't know how to do it safely."

Anders raised his eyebrows at her, silently prompting an elaboration on her statement.

"From what I've read about Healin, a Healer must lower your own inner shields to commune with the spiritual energy of the patient's body. _That_ can set up an uncontrolled empathic magical link between you and the person you're Healing if you have no training to prevent it. Marethari always warned me against trying it. She said that I was so innately sensitive and my nature already too given to self-sacrifice, that I was at too great a risk of loosing myself in the Healing and never coming out of it, and that I shouldn't attempt it without learning the proper precautions first."

"Your teacher wasn't wrong about that," Anders said with a certain dryness. "Still... what _is_ it that you're doing? The reading the blood bits, is it blood magic?"

Merrill thought about it for a long moment, trying to think of a way to phrase it that wouldn't set off Anders' automatic wariness of anything that had the slightest tint of blood magery about it.

"I suppose an honest answer," she said reluctantly at last. "Is that in a strict definition, it has aspects of it. Yes, it requires a person's blood, and it can only be read by a mage but really that's it. Blood magic of the inimical sort, the sort most mages here in Kirkwall seem to be interested in, is all about _using_ the life energy within the blood. Blood-reading ignores the magical life energy completely. In fact, that energy is superfluous, and not of any import at all. Blood-reading is a simple passive ability to read the tiny little bits that make up the blood, usually searching for some sort of foreign..." Merrill searched for a term and didn't have one. " _Thing_ that's causing trouble."

There was a long moment of silence and Merrill looked anxiously at Anders, suddenly hoping that she hadn't offended his magey sensibilities, for his good opinion of her new teacher mattered to her.

"Huh." he said after a long silence. "That's... _interesting_."

"Interesting-good?" Merrill asked hopefully.

He hummed a bit, clearly thinking the matter over carefully before weighing judgement. That could have been the interference of Justice, who probably would have insisted on hearing a fair Trial.

"I can honestly say" he finally said after a long moment. "That I'd never thought of specializing in looking _in_ the blood itself for the source of an illness. As a Healing mage I do know for a fact that many of the worst and most difficult diseases are carried, incubated in, and transmitted through blood, and poisons are almost always carried throughout the body via the veins. Actually, a number of modern medical practices in the Grand Imperial Hospice in Orlais concentrate on finding a way to neutralize these blood-borne pathogens without resorting to magic. Ordinary healers called chirurgens hope to make medicines and a set of medical practices that don't rely on magic available to the common sort who don't have access to Healers. _They_ use the blood to try to diagnose the "humors"of the body. In some cases have met with success, though they've had to rely on magical implements that make it possible to see what they're trying to look at... well anyway, I can't entirely say that you're wrong on this count."

Merrill brightened.

"However," he added a moment later before she could celebrate. "I just can't have everyone see my clinic with a known mage running around collecting samples of blood from every person who walks through the door. It doesn't mater _what_ you're actually doing or what you intentions are... people are going to assume the worst, and they won't believe you if you try to explain yourself once they've made up their minds."

"Oh..." Merrill deflated.

"I know living in the city where everyone's so afraid of what we are is an adjustment for you," he said gently. "Just try to be more aware of how magic is perceived here. Only the really dark scary things about magic are commonly known because the Chantry and the Templars go out of their way to sensationalize it, partly to serve as a waring but partly, in my opinion, to keep people in fear of it. For an average person with no background, magic means demons coming to eat your soul. It's very hard for them not to be afraid even when they know it's being used to help people. The blood-reading just hits too close to all the horror stories."

"I just don't see why they spend so much time trying to lock it away and seal it up," Merrill said, frustrated at the strange proudly ignorant attitude of the outsiders. "Our ancestors, the elvhen I mean, _all_ had magic. For them it was as natural a part of life as breathing. Among the Dalish the mageborn are reared to be protectors and guides, we see ourselves as servants of the people. Why don't they just do that here? Why don't they just spend all that energy they put into trying to contain it into just trying to live with it?"

"If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn't be running a smuggling ring to free mages from the Circle," Anders joked tiredly. "All I can say is that people only know what they know, and magic, by its nature is sometimes unknowable. That scares them. The faith of the Chantry seems to claim that all things are knowable through the Maker--"

"But--" she protested.

"But I'm not going to argue who gods are real and whose are not," he forestalled her protest that his argument rested on the premise that the Shemlen Maker was a real deity and not something they'd made up to explain the world.

"I'm just telling you that people don't like things that are outside of their power and control," he finished. "And for the large majority of people magic is a force that is very much outside of their ability to understand or control. It exists in contradiction to Chantry doctrine of a being that is all-knowing and all powerful, by investing extraordinary power into the hands of ordinary mortals."

"Och," Merrill said, with what amounted to unusual skepticism from her. "The Dalish who have tried to understand the strange, contradictory doctrines of the Maker Cult. We've all come to the general consensus that the Chantry came up with this story for how the world and every single thing in it, from the Fade and the Spirits to the least little rock, came to be. Then they just fit everything else in around it any way they could, even if it doesn't make sense, instead of simply questioning the validity of their story."

"Well what about the Dalish and their gods?" Anders countered. "Just because that religion came first--"

"By thousands and thousands of years before human's existed," Merrill felt obliged to point out. Anders glared for the interruption.

"How do you know that your ancestors didn't just make your creation myth up as a way to explain what they couldn't explain?"

"Well..." Merrill said fairly, giving her honest consideration. "We don't, I suppose. That's probably why they call it faith. All I know is that I've never seen a Dalish use Mythal or Fallon'din or Dirthamen as an excuse to lock people up, or take away their property, or their liberties, or their lives."

"That could also be because the Dalish are among the oppressed minority," Anders said. "Believe me, things change when power gets involved."

"Now you sound like Fenris," Merrill said with a small smile.

"Then I think wed better cut the discussion short since we're neither of us theologians."

"Not true," Merrill replied honestly. "As the Keeper's heir, I am expected to preserve the knowledge and practice of ancient elven religious traditions too."

"So you're not only a mage, but a Chantry Sister as well? Or... you would have been, if you'd stayed with your Clan."

"These valla'sliin are not just for decoration" she said with a melancholy sigh. "And they aren't merely a social function either. I've heard my people described as being "beligerently devoted" to the original faith of the Elven people, and I cannot say that its not an accurate description. We take our faith so seriously in part because it's a core piece of culture that is being eroded away, and in many cases, forcibly _stripped_ from our cultural identity. But that's neither here nor there I suppose. Anders?"

"Yes Merrill?"

"I know I came in the middle of things and you didn't have time to give me directions, but... did I help?"

Anders smiled his small smile that was both careworn and kind and said

"You did. I was surprised by just how much. There was a brief time in the Circle in Ferelden that the First Enchanter had me teaching a class of novices about the basics of my art, and when I thought about essentially getting a new apprentice to help out around here my mind automatically filled in with my time as a teacher then and I thought this was all going to be a lot more work."

He paused for a minute looking her over carefully.

"I have to admit, with all of your strange questions and the way you see the world in such an honest light, that I often forget that you've studied and been taught about magic for nearly all of your life."

"Well, yes," Merrill said. "And I do know a great deal of it, I suppose. However, I think in this case it would be a good idea for you to start your teaching by assuming that I know nothing of Healing and going from there. Shem magic is.... very different from what I know. Our views and our ways of understanding even the nature of magic is almost nothing alike."

"A good point," he said. "Most nights after the clinic closes, I just toddle to my room, eat what I can find and collapse for a few hours of sleep if Justice doesn't start in on that Manifesto. Tonight though, since it doesn't require me actually using magic and I'm fagged out, we'll start with a lecture on the basics as taught in the Circles..."

He started with the four broadest categories of magic, and the four schools they were divided into and what those delineations generally meant with regards to the practice of magic. Merrill almost had to bite her togue to keep from iterrupting every other second, as his explanations did not sound at all like what she was accustomed to. She asked him instead about Healing magic in particular, hoping that zeroing in on a single subject would make more sense to her than all of the jarring differences.

Anders went on to explain to her what Spirit Healing was, and why it was so relatively rare even though it was sought after. Merrill didn't see what was so extraordinary about asking a good spirit for its help to aid other people, or why that might put her in danger. Anders reluctantly had to acknowledge that, in her case, perhaps it was not as great a worry as it would be otherwise. He cataloged and discussed the various types of Healing spells and how they worked and what they were generally used to treat. Her new teacher finished his lecture by giving her an arm full of magical tomes on magic basics and Spirit Healing. He commanded her to read them when she was done assisting him in the clinic, She was to write essays on themes and subjects that he would assign at a later date, and he explicitly forbade her from doing _any_ Spirit summoning without him there to supervise.

Merrill left the clinic feeling tired but satisfied. Her life wasn't what she envisioned for herself but she felt in her heart that the Goddess had led her to this path. It didn't necessarily mean that she would not be able to aid her people at some time in the future, and learning all she could to help people now was surely what Mythal would wish for her to do.


	29. Chapter 29

Fenris growled irritatedly at no-one, searching through the bowels of the wine cellar for a bottle he might have missed. It was all the witch's fault! He didn't know why he seemed to be the more sensitive to this strange bonding thing out of the two of them...

_:One would think that since it's **her** heathen Goddess, and **she's** the mage, that it would be **she** who is plagued by this accursed connection!:_

In the nearly three weeks since he had returned to his lair in Hightown after his stay with the Dalish (during which he had come to learn of his soubond with the naive Dalish witch) he'd had little respite from the connection. The long afternoons he had previously spent in solitude, mewed up in the mansion he lived in, felt different now. In the days before the damnable bond had set in, he had passed the days peaceably enough; if Hawke had no need of him, he spent his time practicing his sword work to keep his skills sharp. He experimented with pushing the limits of his markings in order to perhaps gain an edge that would give him further advantages in any fight he might face int he future. It could be dull at times, but boredom was a luxury too in its own way, though a tedious one.

He still spent much of his time practicing his sword work, but now it served as much as a distraction as a habit necessary for his survival. He could _sense_ her! It was a strange sort of awareness, an internal compass that was always oriented on her. He knew where she was, and, unless he actively kept himself distracted, he knew in a general sense what she was doing. It was like sharing a house that had rooms with very thin walls; he could always hear the voice of his neighbor, hear her shuffling around as she readied for work or prepared her meal. It was a soft background noise he was always aware of on some level, even when he ignored it. He wasn't always aware of attuning his senses, but he'd suddenly find himself "listening in" without realizing it; checking on her activities, getting a sense of her emotions, making certain she was not in any danger or possibly doing something stupid.

Right then she was knelt down in front of her third patient for the day, her new "keeper" trying not to hover nervously over her shoulder as she pulled magic from the Fade and started channeling it with a surprisingly delicate deftness into her patient, cautiously and conscientiously learning the skill of a Healer. He felt her intense concentration on the task before her, her desire to do well and make her new "Keeper" praise her work, her own surprise at how quickly the skill of a Healer came to her, despite the fact that her previous experience with blood magic had been nearly the precise opposite. He sensed her underlying sense of peace and fulfillment at being useful and helping people who needed it, even though they were not elves.

:Graah! Why can't she keep it to herself!: he demanded irritatedly.

Fenris snarled in frustration and stormed up the stairs from the cellar and back into his proper rooms where he could pace like an irritated beast in a cage and consider spending some of his carefully hoarded coin on another bottle of wine; the stronger, the better. Alcohol was one of the few things that seemed to deaden their link enough so that her presence wasn't so immediate.

He could feel her contentment like the warmth of a fine brandy deep in his stomach radiating outward... and he resented it. She didn't even seem to be aware of the fact that he couldn't help paying attention to all of her doings and it pissed him off! He was like a kid with a loose tooth. He was always probing and poking at it when he wasn't paying attention; he'd be cutting a loaf of bread for breakfast and thinking about which marketplace might give him the best price for cheese when he would suddenly find himself with his proverbial tongue pressed against the tooth, he'd find himself listening in on her, gauging her mood, judging whether or not she was safe. As much as it frustrated and annoyed him to have her always there, there was some carefully buried and ignored part of him that felt reassured by that same fact, a part of him that, instead of feeling resentful of this unwelcome intrusion into his life, actually seemed to find the constant presence soothing. And that _pissed him off_.

Fenris had been a loner for as long as he could remember. Part of it was circumstance; as the body-slave to his former master his unique position within the hierarchy of the household (not free, but certanly percieved as being in a better condition than the other slaves) had isolated him from his fellows. His time had been spent entirely in Danarius' company (chained like a dog at his feet when his master had felt like making a point). His time in Seheron among the Fog Warriors had given him his first taste of fellowship and community... but though he had slowly grown accustomed to the idea of freedom, he had formed no true bonds of friendship. He had admired their independence, had liked them as a group, but had been too skittish and wary of power dynamics to open himself up to real feelings. Perhaps, given how things had turned out, he should have done so. Then life on the run, dodging bounty-hunters and slavers certainly had not been conducive to forming close friendships; not until Hawke had come along.

The Tevinter fugitive kept telling himself that his relationship with the former Ferelden refugee was strictly based on self-preservation; he needed a powerful ally for the day when Danaruis came himself to collect his wayward property. The days he spent having adventures with the rogue were nothing more than a way to bring in extra coin, keep his skills sharp, alleviate boredom and garner a sense of obligation against the day he needed an ally to fight the battle that Fenris knew he could not win alone. While it sounded perfectly well in his head, that assertion did not explain the nights around a table filled with companions (some better liked than others) playing Wicked Grace, nor the ways said companions wove themselves into his life unasked for, even when he wasn't loking for them. Some were more intrusive than others.

His disquiet had been bubbling beneath the surface for days now and Fenris decided that perhaps staying cooped up in his quarters in that abandoned old mansion was feeding the problem; if he took himself out into the world there might perhaps be enough to distract him from his present condition.

_:The witch said that if we did not touch then this bond between us would not have a chance to germinate, but that does not explain why it is so easy for me to feel her.:_

He was most annoyed with this. She blithely and obliviously was going about, trying to adjust her to her new way of life like there was nothing strange about this bond they shared, and it seemed like Fenris was the only one who was sensitive to the connection between them. She should at least be as uncomfortable as he was with the bond, and if she wasn't... maybe there was a reason why. Maybe she had some way of cutting herself off from the bond-sense and she just wasn't telling him. If that was so, then he deserved to know!

He abruptly came to a decision. He would confront her about her apparent obliviousness to the ever-present connection between them and find out why she was immune to its effects. Fenris easily oriented himself on her direction, he always knew where she was, and set out.

The aptly named darktown was its usual dim and wretched self. The crude tunnels that had been hollowed out in the rocks of the foundry by the hands of slaves centuries before looked as ominous as ever. Only the most desperately poor made their way into the shelter of these caverns, for sickness ran rampant in this community as did violence. If ever there were a place in need of a Healer, this was it.

The lantern to Anders' clinic shone like a beacon through the murky depths, and there was a small crowd gathered outside, many of whom looked nervous. Fenris pushed through them and glared at the two Ferelden women manning the front desk of the clinic when it looked like they might prevent his progress. He had been down the the clinic (albeit reluctantly) a time or two before. Despite the Healing Mage's attempts to keep it clean, it had always been a dirty, dingy place steeped in the murk of the undercity. It looked and felt much different now, clearly Anders' new apprentice had been hard at work. The stone of the walls and floor had been scrubbed clean and re-sealed, the ragged scraps of cloth used for blankets had been mended and washed and the beds repaired, but most of all, the strange aura of festering malignancy that characterized the atmosphere of darktown was gone and in its place was the same sort of fortress of hallowed sacredness that he had sensed in Merrill's apartments after her crazy elven ritual for burning out demons.

In the back room there was a young human boy on a table looking pale, a smaller human crouched nearby wide-eyed and frightened looking. Merrill stood at the side of the table, her hands glowing a soft, subtle green-blue. Fenris was accustomed to Anders' Healing magic which glowed a blue-white and thrummed with the power of a spirit behind it, the force of it rolling out from him like a controlled river. He had always associated Merrill's magic with the force of her elemental magery, all crackling lightning and roaring fire augmented by the metallic tang of her blood to boost its effect. Neither, he had ever thought, were a quiet magic, but the way she wielded her own brand of healing magic was... gentle. The aura of it that radiated out from her and brushed over his lyrium markings was as soft as a sigh, soaking in like a gentle rain. The boy glowed a soft blue-green from the inside out and he could sense the gentle push-pull of her will manipulating the magic in tiny increments, slowly with great care and adeptness, dissolving the pain and illness and leaving health and wellness in its wake. The glow faded and Merrill straightened, looking to Anders for his approval.

"That was very well done," Anders said, sounding amazed. "I thought you only knew the powerful force-spells of the elemental school of magic."

His tone implied a certain dislike for the brute-force displays of magic as opposed to the subtleties his own ability as a Healer.

"I've been watching you for days, and I read every book you gave me," Merrill said, sounding hurt, as though he were chiding her somehow or that he didn't believe she'd put in the diligence required to practice the magic.

"Usually it takes more than reading books and watching for a few days to develop that sort of control and restraint," Anders pointed out.

"Well," Merrill said. "I have spent the last several years slowly burning out Taint from the shards of the Eluvian. It takes a lot of the same sort of focus and much the same method of magic to burn out sickness from a body."

"Ah, a learning curve then," Anders said, nodding in understanding. "Well, I suppose it's good that all that effort didn't go completely to waste."

"Is my brother going to be okay?" The little girl asked Anders, a fearful worry in her tone.

Something about the scene nagged at Fenris, like he should be able to recognize something about it somehow, but when he turned his attention to the sense of disquiet within him, hoping to catch and elusive memory, it slipped away from him.

"He's going to be just fine Lita," Anders reassured her. "But do bring him back here for the next three days so we can check on him."

Anders pulled out a small end of a loaf and a withered looking apple.

"This is for you to share with him."

When it looked like the young girl would protest that her brother would need it to keep his strength the Healer gently overrode her by saying

"You need to keep healthy too if you're going to look after him. Mind you both eat it quickly for we both know you'll be taking your chances outside."

Fenris nodded absently in agreement. that was simply the way things worked in Darktown. Children were weaker than adults and if someone weaker had something someone stronger wanted, it was as good as gone. Anders was a mage however, and could keep order in his clinic one way or another. Merrill smiled encouragingly down at her recent patient as she gently helped him to sit up. When he was upright she reached over to a small side-table and brought out a wooden bowl filled with something fragrant that steamed and bade him to eat it slowly to help him regain his strength. Moments later they were seeing the two children on their way.

"Hullo Fenris!" Merrill greeted him cheerfully.

He knew damned well that she'd been aware of his presence the whole time and he scowled in her direction for her pretense of greeting.

"I will speak with you, witch," he commanded, gesturing peremptorily for her to follow as she seemed to respond to authority.

Anders raised an eyebrow, nonplussed, and interjected

"You may speak with my apprentice when you can manage to address her like a civilized person, until then, we've work here to do."

Fenris looked at him, offended at the human mage for sticking his pointy nose where it wasn't wanted. This was a matter between the two of them and no business of his, and it certainly was none of Anders' business how Fenris chose to address the witch.

"This matter does not concern you," Fenris growled back at him.

"Merrill is my apprentice, it concerns me until I say it doesn't."

There was a small, carefully concealed smirk on the edge of that abomination's countenance that said that he was enjoying getting in Fenris' way.

"Now now you two," Merrill hastily interjected as Fenris weighed the satisfaction he might get from starting a brawl with the irritating man right there in the clinic. "Let's play nice."

The wry look that appeared on the abomination's face was matched by the narrow-eyed look on Fenris'. Merrill stepped over to Fenris.

"I won't be but a moment," she promised her teacher.

"Send the next one in on your way out," Anders sighed, acknowledging her right to see to her own matters herself.

Fenris smirked over his shoulder at the ex-Warden on his way out the door, always a little pleased to have the chance to needle him a bit.

"What's the matter?" Merrill questioned him when he led her to an unoccupied crevice of the darktown tunnels. "You've been in a foul temper all morning."

"You told me that this bonding between us would disappear if we never touched each other or were in contact," he snapped irritatedly. "It has been nearly a month since we came back from your little tiff with the Dalish and I can still... _sense_ you. You, however, do not seem to suffer the same sort of sense about me. I wish to know how you have managed to block it out. If you are with-holding a way to rid myself of this inconvenience witch..."

He left the threat hanging, his scowling glare letting her know that he was very much in earnest about having a way to be rid of his inconvenient bond with her as quickly as possible.

"What do you mean I don't have the same sense of you, Fenris?" Merrill asked curiously. "Of course I do. I know where you are every second of each day. I know you've been looking for fresh meat in the markets that isn't fish, and that your bread is going stale. I know that you've spent the last three consecutive days brooding and drinking alone in your house."

She sent a small admonitory frown his way to indicate her disapproval of the habit.

"I'm beginning to get about worried about you, or rather your liver," she went on. "You should really have Anders get a look at it before you go soaking it in wine again."

Fenris scowled at her for the implication that he was on his way to becoming a drunk.

"I've only drank so heavily in order to get rid of this curse between us," he snarled at her. "Tell me how you've cut off the connection!"

"Oh, but I haven't," she replied with every evidence of confusion.

Frustratingly, her honesty resonated on the link between them. Having her this close to him was making the link worse, not better.

"Then why do I never sense you checking on me?" he demanded next.

"I've no need to do so," Merrill said. "I just accept what the Goddess has placed upon me. Once I do that, I've no need to pay it any mind. I do have my studied to think on now."

Fenris stared at her for a long moment, dumbstruck. The little fool wasn't bothered by it because she was actually too stupid to realize that this was potentially a big problem, and certainly it was a great loss of hard won privacy for him!

"Well _stop_ it!" he roared, now highly pissed off. "Whatever you have to do to cut this thing off, you do it, mage! I don't care if you have to drink the blood of unicorns or eat puppies, get this thing undone."

"I know you don't like it Fenris, but there really is nothing I can do about it," she said with maddening calm in the face of his rage. "If the goddess wants it undone, She'll lift it. Until then... we just have to live with it."

" _You_ should be trying harder to resist it," he accused. "It's your fault that it's like this. You're not struggling because you secretly want to entrap me. You're just like every other mage, you think you can use me."

He instantly felt her shocked hurt at his words echo through the link, as well as a feeling of insult that he still thought so little of her that he continued to lump her in the same category as his enemies. He felt her temper begin to smoulder even as she struggled to remain calm. She wrestled her temper and made it submit before she adressed him again, which made Fenris almost g=feel morbidly curious about what could make her lose her temper.

"I've told you before," she said, but he felt the irritation begin to well up within her. "It isn't something that can be wished away. I can't wave my staff and flout the will of the Goddess. I can't exorcize it like some evil spirit. I know you don't like it, I'm not all that happy with it either... though I have to admit that it has gotten easier for me to not get lost in the streets since we got back, I can't always just orient myself on you--"

"So glad you've found a silver lining," Fenris dripped sarcasm.

"Oh, that is nice, isn't it?" she said cheerfully, the sarcasm, as always, sailing right over he head without a pause to rest.

However, this time Fenris noted something about her _supposed_ naivete he'd never been quite certain of before. Some of it was, at least in part, an _act_. She was aware of his opinion of her, and she was trying to deflect a little of his anger with the situation and with her away by trying to play it off. Fenris was about to call her out on it when he sensed her underlying purpose in playing the naivete card; she was offering them both an easy out. She didn't know what to do about his anger and she had no way of alleviating the source of his contention with her, so she figured that the least she could do was to make him feel a little better by appeasing his vanity. She figured he was always up for a rousing game of Insult the Mage, so she'd deflect his attention elsewhere for a little while. Her own pride might take a hit as he further dismissed her, but she was willing to do so if it made him feel a little better.

Fenris frowned, looking at her calculatingly. Merrill was really bad with people; socially awkward even on a good day because she was so terribly sheltered and isolated even among her own kind. Even though he'd never been sheltered (rather the opposite) the isolation was something they shared. Fenris chose to meet his brand of social awkwardness by asserting his sense of self and his independence with his strong, abrasive opinions. Merrill was the opposite; raised to serve her people and to care for them, she was a people-pleaser at heart, motivated by a desire to serve. Even her rebellion stemmed from a larger ambition to help people, to sacrifice herself and take on danger for a perceived greater good. That behavior showed itself in her smaller habits too.

' _That doesn't mean she's not plotting something...'_ he tried to remind himself, but even in his own mind the suspicion felt weak and forced.

Inconvenient as their enforced bond often was, the one quasi-benefit it held for him was that there was no chance for any dishonesty between them, not even by omission. He would know the moment she tried to lie to him, and if they were close enough he would even be able to sense what the truth of the matter really was. A small possible advantage...

"Mage," he said abruptly.

"Yes, Fenris?" she said a little stiffly.

"You have said that you dislike the bond and have no wish to purse the matter, and that you feel your heathen Goddess has made a mistake in choosing me as your partner."

"I never said that!" she protested, sounding aghast. "Mythal does not make mistakes."

He frowned. She was telling the truth and it only made him feel _more_ alarmed. If Merrill did not feel her Goddess had made a mistake, then it could mean that she had decided not to fight the Bonding for that very reason.

"Then you feel She chose wisely," he demanded, suddenly suspicious.

If Merrill was not as against this bonding as he was, then there was a chance that it could not be undone. Perhaps if they both did not fight it mutually, it would be able to stick around forever.

"Well... not, exactly," she hesitated. "I admit I have a hard time reconciling Her choice, though."

"How so?" he demanded shortly.

He sensed her reluctance to speak and scowled at her for her timidity. He had asked her a question, it was not difficult for her to answer him!

"Well, no offense, but you are not what I would have chosen for myself as a bondmate had I been given the option of doing so. You baffle me more often than not, and you're so prickly and hard to get close to."

She hesitated again and he sensed an inner conflict. She had things she wanted to say, but she knew he wasn't going to like them at all and she was torn between her own innate honesty and a desire to not make him angry.

"Go on," he prompted, commanding her to speak her mind.

He sensed her wariness of his temper which only made him feel more irritated and impatient with her. If she was as upset with her Goddess' choice as she claimed to be then she should have no problem with telling him why. Fenris had not yet ruled out the possibility that she was pleased, deep down, with their unnatural connection, no matter how many claims she made to the contrary. She could surely feel his suspicion of her honesty through their link, even if she could not fathom the cause of it. In Fenris' mind it was only natural that he feel suspicious; she was a mage, she seemed to be unconcerned with the way that their bond had yet to fade even after a month of separation. That alone made him highly suspicious of her claim to be against their unnatural connection. Her hesitance made him worry that the next words out of her mouth would be ones in which she had decided to not go against the will of her heathen goddess and simply accept the damned bond as a fait accompli.

_'Over my dead corpse,'_ he snarled to himself. _'That mage is going to figure out a way to break this damned bond, or I'll break **her**.'_

He felt her confusion deepen through their link as she surely sensed his anger with her and the situation deepen. Fenris was not interested in being sidetracked, patronized or put off the matter. He had come for an answer. He wanted her presence gone from the back of his mind and for his thoughts and emotions to be purely his own again. If there was the slightest chance that the mage was not an unwilling bondmate any longer, then there was a chance that she might know of a way to undo the connection and simply with-held the knowledge out of an interest in trapping him, just like every other mage.

"Well out with it!" he snapped.

He felt her emotionally and physically flinch back as though he had struck her. She shied away, skittish as a forest creature, and Fenris was by this point heartily wearied of dancing around her oversensitivity. It was time to get her invested in finding a cure for their mutual condition. He'd seen that she was willing to go to foolishly great lengths in pursuit of something if she felt it was worth doing, if he was tied to her then it was only natural that _he_ should benefit from her stubbornness for once.

"Listen well," he growled at her, voice deadly serious. "You know that the reason I stay in Kirkwall is so that I will have some small advantages on the day my former master Danarius comes to reclaim me and drag me back in chains. On that day that I must face him I can afford no weaknesses. You,"

He spat the word with all the venom he could muster. She shrank away form him and he felt a mean, grim satisfaction about the fact that he could intimidate her so.

"Are a weakness. This connection we have is a vulnerability I cannot and will not afford. You are a gaping chink in my armor, a weak blade, a bleeding wound. In short, you are dead weight. If you do not figure out some manner of erasing this connection we share and restoring me to my former state of single blessedness, I will make you _literal_ deadweight."

"But the legends say that you'll die too!" Merrill protested, dismayed.

"Better that than a weakness in the face of an enemy who will not hesitate to use it against me. I will not lose on that day when he comes. I most especially will not lose because of you. You shall find a way to undo it, or I shall undo you."

He turned on his heel and stormed out, knowing that she had sensed that he had meant every word he'd said. If she did not find a way to break their bond, then he would take matters into his own hands, and end their bond permanently, by ending her.


	30. Chapter 30

It did not seem as difficult as Anders had made it out to be, but Merrill hd always privately thought that her new shemlen teachher underestimated her, just like everyone else (except perhaps Marethari) did.

_'In a lot of ways this is actually a great deal easier than clearing taint from an eluvian shard_ ,' Merrill thought to herself as she deftly guided her own personal magic, glowing a healthy green-blue in her magesight, through a final sweep of her patient.

Her newly rediscovered Healing magic burned away the last vestiges of sickness in the linings of his lungs and the fatty tissue. It was very important that these areas be thorouhly and meticulously cleansed as sickness was inclined to store itself away in those tissues and return when his body accessed its reserves, thus leading to  relapse or perhaps even a chronic condition. Tricky stuff, that.

_'Taint fights back when when a mage tries to burn it out, and you don't have any assistance from the hosts body at all. Healing magic is easy in comparison to cleansing Taint; even if the sickness or injury resists, the host body is willing and eager to marshal its own defenses and come to your aid if you know to guide it right._ '

Merrill, like her Keeper Marethari before her, was a firm believer in using all that could be done naturally with only minimal interference with magic. When it came to Healing, she usually went in with a subtle diagnostic probe to scope out the lay of the land, then used powerful, concentrated bursts of Healing magic to burn away at the strongest points of the problem breaking it up into smaller manageable bits, while at the same time marshaling the bodies innate defenses. This aided the body in finding the correct targets so that its natural defenses could "flank" the interloping sickness. She then generally combined both methods, magical and natural, to quickly mop up the rest. After that, medicine and rest generally sufficed to clean up any aftermath. Her careful, parsimonious use of magic when purifying the eluvian shards of Taint stood her in good stead now, for she found that she could do a great deal of effective Healing with the least amount of magic.

"Very deftly done," Anders complimented her, sounding both surprised and impressed.

Merrill was too on edge to feel any glow of accomplishment at the compliment. When Fenris had finished with his ultimatum to her, Merrill had all but stumbled back into the room, feeling very shaken and not a little afraid by how deadly serious he was about the possibility of his finding a solution to his problem with their Bonding. She'd needed a distraction, something that would take her mind off the sudden turn in their dynamic. Merrill was already accustomed to magical work that required focus, power, and a great deal of concentration; so the mindless scut-work that Anders had been giving her to do around the clinic was not going to be the focused distraction she needed for her true level of ability. She'd been observing him carefully for weeks, she'd read the tomes he gave her, and had even studied her own elvhen works and other secondary sources, just as she had been accustomed to doing when she had studied under Marethari. She was already more than ready, so... when she walked out of the room, she seized the next patient in line, walked him over to a chair, sat him down and got to work.

The actual work of Healing _was_ quite involved. It required a light, deft touch, constant vigilance, knowledge, as well as flexibility and a deep compassion. Its complexity took all of her attention but Merrill bent her concentration to it, and, when she exited the semi-trance-like state that she entered to bring her focus to a razor sharpness, she was surprised to note that Anders had moved right next to her shoulder, magic at the ready to come to her aid if she needed it. After she had withdrawn her energies from her patient, Anders checked him over himself.

"You should ask next time before you go charging in," he added admonishingly. "But... I give you leave to take on..."

He pointed over to the long, long queue of less serious cases waiting for attendance from a Healer. There were a lot of them.

"That lot over there."

Merrill smiled wanly up at him, glad that he was taking her decision in stride instead of getting angry over the fact she had just jumped in on her own without asking her teacher for his permission. Anders hadn't shown her _true_ Spirit Healing yet, where she would make contact with another Spirit of the Beyond and request its aid and support in Healing others, but Merrill had her own considerable reserves to draw from, and if there was one thing she was good at it was using the very smallest amount of magic to achieve the greatest effect. Thus, she began the real work of a true Healer for the first time. Fenris' words and his anger were shoved to the back of her mind for the work of Healing required all of her concentration. That fact had been the impetus for her sudden leap into full Healing whether her teacher felt she was ready or not.

Two Healers made a great deal more progress than one Healer and his more-or-less ordinary(ish) staff. By the end of the day, when even Anders Spirit-enhanced reserves of strength were beginning to flag, they closed the clinic doors with not a single patient told to return the next morning when he'd had a chance to rest. It was a first in all the time Merrill had been working in his clinic. As reluctant as he was to do it, even Anders was wise enough to know he could only spread himself so thin before he risked being able to do nothing for anyone because he'd exhausted himself. Merrill worried, however, over how closely he seemed to ride the line most days. As a consequence, Merrill had forbidden him from moving a muscle, except the ones needed to eat, after the clinic had been closed down.

"But I really can help," he insisted, just as he always tried to.

He even attempted to move toward one of the large half-barrels they used for the washing and Merrill bodily blocked him with her staff.

"Oooh noo yeh doon't!" she snapped. "This is apprentice work an' I'll thank yeh teh stey oout of me wey."

The sturdy matron-like Nardeen, one of the two staff that manned the clinic at all times, who acted as both arbiter of appointments and door-keeper, was already trundling over to the soapy water with an arm full of linens to be washed. The smaller, slighter Tanria, dispenser of medicines and advice had already taken Anders gently by the elbow and guided him to a cleared-off section of the counter where they dispensed medicines where his evening meal awaited him.

"Who's in charge here," he grumbled half-heartedly, as he always did.

When Merrill had first started coming in, Anders had still been somewhat getting his way with regard to the clean-up. Nardeen and Tanria had let him pick up linens and heat the water for them, even scrub down the occasional counter if they were feeling generous. The other two ladies had laid claim to the larger part of the cleaning, one took the linens and washed them, the other scrubbed down all the surfaces, then washed the walls and floors like a charwoman. With an apprentice mage, one that was already well trained, those few duties they'd let Anders get away with had been quickly and deftly brought to a cease. Merrill heated the water, dried the linens, scrubbed the walls and floors with water and magic both. Anders had adamantly refused to let her have at his clinic with a good tenshii ritual to get rid f any lingering magical miasma, citing that a spell like that would draw too much attention of the wrong sort, but Merrill was a past master at cleansing away Taint little by little... and so that was what she did. She knew Anders could feel the difference; he was a Grey Warden as well as a mage, so there was no question of his noticing, but since her magic was quiet, he was content to let her work away at it.

Merrill was halfway through scrubbing down the walls, using her magic to move the water this way and that for a deep clean, when Anders turned to her, bread in one hand, manifesto in the other, and asked

"So what did Fenris say to you?"

"What?" she squeaked, surprised.

She'd thought she'd covered how much his words had disturbed and upset her so no-one had noticed her disquiet. Apparently she'd been wrong to think so. Even right then, using a spell to clean away the oddly prevalent tainted magic embedded in the stone of the city required enough of her concentration to keep her mind on her task and off what he'd said to her.

"Merrill. You've been in a pother ever since he showed up," Anders said. "You're not normally reckless and you usually have a great deal more respect for my authority in my own clinic than you showed today by ignoring my order to wait until I'd given you the go-ahead for you to start in with the real Healing."

His tone was slightly admonishing, letting her know tacitly that he was not precisely thrilled that she had transgressed, but also carried a sort of gentle understanding to it, saying also that he had forgiven her for her usurpation of authority.

"If he's threatened you, or tried to hurt you in any way..." Anders left the leading sentence hanging.

"He hasn't hurt me," Merrill said quickly.

She left the fact that he had indeed threatened her out of the answer. Anders caught on right away, for he could be unnervingly perceptive at times. Merrill was quickly getting used to it; after all, her own Keeper had been like that, so it wasn't as though it surprised her.

"How did he threaten you, and why?" Anders asked next.

"It's not..." Merrill hesitated, uncertain what to say.

She didn't know if she could explain to a shem about their troubles with the Bond without having to explain about the Soulbond to start with. Merrill didn't really have anyone to talk to about it though. She couldn't tell her Keeper, for Marethari would insist that they do the right thing and honor the will of the Goddess. She didn't know any of the other elves in the alienage, and she didn't think that Fenris wanted anyone else from their inner circle knowing about their little problem. Still, she didn't feel that she could do as he asked without getting advice on the matter, and she had long been accustomed to seeking advice from her Keeper... when she had one. Anders was the closest thing she had in her new life now.

"It's complicated," she said at last.

First she extracted his promise that he wouldn't tell anyone else what she was about to tell him, then she explained to Anders what an elven Soulbonding was and that she and Fenris had been "blessed." Anders quickly put two and two together and figured out that their soulbonding was what had broken Merrill of her stubborn insistence on the Eluvian and the blood magic. Merrill finished off by explaining their mutual agreement to try to sever the bond, her reasons for it, and the fact that the bond showed no sign of growing any weaker despite a prolonged period of separation.

"So that's what's had his small-clothes in a twist," Anders said, cheerfully. "Isabella and that Starkhaven choirboy have both said his temper's been even worse than usual lately."

"Anders," Merrill said seriously. "Will you stop looking so amused by this? It isn't funny. He's not joking around about him getting rid of anything that might be a vulnerability. You _know_ how he is about his former master."

"He's not going to make good on his threat Merrill," Anders replied reassuringly. "If he even tries it, he'll have all of his allies right down his throat... _if_ there's anything left of him once I get through incinerating him with a firestorm, that is. That he made it at all just says he's scared and desperate."

"He's not the only one," Merill muttered. "I don't know what to do about it."

She brightened.

"Do you think I might get a Spirit to help? Even the elves don't know much about the soulbond except that its a blessing of Mythal and that it can't be undone once awakened. Maybe a Spirit would know more about it. You contact them for your Healing all of the time, I'm sure you could help me find a friendly one to answer a few questions!"

"Nuh-uh, _bad_ idea!" Anders said emphatically. "You just got out of trouble with the last one you wanted information from, do you really want to go getting yourself into possibly worse trouble?"

"What about Justice?" Merrill asked. "Can't he, er, you tell me anything?"

"He's not that sort of spirit," Anders shook his head. "He's old, but he doesn't see time the way the rest of us do. Asking him won't do you any good unless you're curious about whether its Just for your Goddess to supposedly go tethering two souls together without asking them first."

Her teacher ran a hand through his hair, loosening it from its binding a little and regarded her seriously. "Merrill, as your teacher, I'm asking you to leave this one be, at least for now."

"What about Fenris?" Merrill asked with concern."He's already grouchy about having to wait this long. If I don't do something soon, he's going to get downright unpleasant. You know how he worries about that Magister from Tevinter coming after him. In his eyes our potential bond is an exploitable weakness, and you know how he gets about weaknesses when there's any chance if that man getting hold of one. He's really..."

He was really afraid, but they both knew that the absent party would not appreciate the knowledge being vocalized.

"There have been no moves that anyone's aware of from Fenris' old master to show up to drag him back home," Ander soothed. "And if that Danarius as influential a senator and magister as Fenris says, his movements will be public knowledge. I'm sure Varric, at least, is keeping an eye on the trade routes and roads for any sign of enemy activity, and if the dwarf can't find something out about the movers and shakers in the world when he's of a mind to, it isn't worth knowing."

"Oh... well, " Merrill said hesitantly.

She turned her mind back to her last encounter with the demon at Pride's End, the terrible struggle she'd had with it, and the danger it had put her and her friends in. She decided on the spot that it was a better idea to look for other area's of research first before asking for help from another Spirit. And who knew, perhaps if Merrill demonstrated she was contrite enough, or made more offerings, the Goddess might still decide to free them from the bonding.

"I suppose you're right, Anders" she said at last.

Anders looked surprised.

"That was easy," he said.

Then he paused, knowing well Merrill's stubborn tenacity and bad habits.

"Wait, you're not going to try something _else_ dangerous are you?"

"I don't think so," Merrill said.

"You think powerful Demons are just helpful little Spirits that have been badly misunderstood and you think nothing of ripping a hole through the veil to go a little spring cleaning, so forgive me if I feel the need to call your judgement into question," Anders replied. "How about this; you let _me_ talk to Fenris about his little ultimatum, and I'll see if I can't get him see things in a more reasonable manner."

Merrill looked at him, frankly skeptical.

"You? But Anders... the only person in all of Kirkwall he despises on a personal level more than me is you. I don't think he'll listen to you, no matter how reasonable you sound. Besides, I don't know if he'll be very happy I told you about our little... predicament."

"He'll have to live with it," Anders said shortly. "And I have an argument or two good enough to make him listen whether he wants to or not, so don't worry about it. Come on, I'll walk you home."

Merrill still had her misgivings about Fenris being reasonable about anything, even on a good day, and particularly with Anders involved. She only hoped that she hadn't just made him even angrier with her than he already was by going to Anders for advice; Fenris and Anders were like two weasels in a whipple pot on a good day, and Fenris was already angry to begin with.

_'I wonder how he lives every day carrying all that bitterness around with him. Doesn't that spite poison everything good for him? I don't think I have ever seen him actually enjoy something... unless its ripping the hearts of slavers out of their chests, and even that is a sort of murderous, gleeful satisfaction. That can't be healthy.'_

Merrill wondered to herself just what the Goddess had gotten her in for some days. The ex-slave had had a difficult life, and that he'd survived a great deal. He was a fairly good, if grim, man most days, but... deep beneath the surface, there was a darkness within him that festered, a thirst for vengeance that he fueled, a rage that he kept burning hot. It frightened her sometimes.

_'This ultimatum was not something he considered carefully, he's just angry with the situation and taking it out on what he perceives to be the source of his latest troubles. He's only lashing out, just as he always does, but...'_

Merrill was more deeply troubled by the implications.

Whatever his intentions had or had not been, when Fenris had made his threat, he had been in deadly earnest. If Merrill did not find a solution that left him free of vulnerabilities for his enemies to exploit, he would end the situation himself. He had not been idly threatening when he had told her he would kill her, at least, not at the time he had made his threat.

_'The death-threat isn't what worries me the most,'_ Merrill acknowledged to herself.

Fenris was beginning to lose the distinction between friend and enemy. Wherever it came to a threat about his former master, Fenris lost all ability to see reason. She could understand it to a degree, but what concerned her the most was that the more of his energy he focused on his former life and his desire for vengeance, the darker his thoughts became. Slowly, bit by bit, the darkness was spreading across his soul. Merrill feared that if he was not careful, he would be consumed by a demon from within... a demon that was of his own making.

"Compassionate Mythal," she prayed. "Goddess of Mercy, help him."


	31. Chapter 31

Fenris already regretted what he'd said to the little Dalish witch. Speaking in anger wasn't anything new to him, and he'd been quite serious about making her understand his displeasure with the situation. He fully intended to be free of his ties to her. What he regretted about his hasty ultimatum was the fact that Merrill, in terms of world experience was spiritually younger and more childlike than he was, and _that_ meant that she was not prone to thinking matters through or considering the implications of her actions before she performed them. She was also very willful; that might be a strength as a mage but had it also landed her in situations like the mirror and the demon.

_'The foolish witch is powerful in magic, strong in will, sheltered in experience and hopelessly naive,_ ' Fenris thought to himself. ' _It's a recipe for disaster_!'

He'd picked up a bottle of harder drink on his way back and the link between them was nearly dead in the back of his mind. His thoughts ere his own but he was disturbed by how isolated he now felt. Aside of Hawk coming to visit and the occasional night at the Hanged Man, Fenris spent a lot of time by himself. He'd always thought he liked the privacy; the less amount of people who were close to him, the less who would be hurt or caught in the crossfire when his former master came to collect him. Now with his link to the girl dead, and no-one and nothing else to distract him, the silence in the mansion he was staying in felt oppressive. He knew he was not and probably never would be a people person, but neither did he feel any desire to be utterly alone either.

_This soul-bonding between us must be severed and the sooner the better for both of our sakes. It matters not that she's given up her blood magery, she's still a danger to me._

Part of his objection to his bond with her had to do with the difference between foolish and stupid. Stupid was a lack of intelligence. One could do nothing about such a basic lack. Foolish on the other hand was not a lack of intelligence, but a lack of good judgement. As much had be berated her, Fenris knew that she did was not lacking in pure intellectual power. She was certainly intelligent enough to have mastered a large number of spells, plus (if her teacher was to be believed) she'd also memorized the accumulated history and lore of the Dalish, had cleansed Taint from the shards of an ancient elven magical artifact, could write and translate in more than one language, _and_ had learned several thousand distinct characters of vallan, the lost written language of the ancient elves. But, as Fenris had said before, she'd had all of this in her favor but had thrown it away to chase ghosts and martyr herself over useless dead history.

_'Or she would have done if this soulbonding had not interfered with her plans_ ,' he considered.

But so far, the soulbond had only been a convenience for one person, and it wasn't him. As far as Fenris could tell there was no benefit to him to be soulbonded to...

' _Well.._.' he reconsidered with drunken clarity. ' _She **is** a very powerful mage._ '

Having been the bodyguard to one of the most powerful magisters in Tevinter, Fenris _knew_ powerful magic. He'd seen Danarius, soaked in the blood of the sacrifices that had went to fuel his dark magic, cut a swath through the armed troops of the Qunari on the island of Seheron, leaving fire and charred corpses in his wake. He had a hard time imagining that there could be any other mage out there who was his equal.

' _But that magic had been fueled mostly by the blood of his victims_.'

Fenris knew that blood magic was more powerful than the so-called "natural" magic because the cost of it was paid by the life-force of others. If that advantage was removed from him...

_'Danarius would **still** be quite powerful, but perhaps no longer matchless in terms of magical strength_." Fenris calculated. ' _However, he is also politically powerful.'_

As one of the most powerful and influential magisters in the Tevinter Imperium, Danarius had money and influence to spare within the boundaries of the Imperium. Certainly his wealth and influence was enough for him to keep hiring and sending bounty hunters with irritating regularity to re-acquire his runaway property. So far the fighters he'd hired had been unable to fulfill their task. Danarius had wrought his living weapon all too well, and when Fenris had developed a will of his own he was a force to be recconed with.

"Danarius will come for me, eventually, if he cannot drag me back by other means, this I know," then a thought occurred to him, one he had not given any true consideration before as he was so accustomed to thinking of his former master as being so incredibly powerful.

_"However... even his great power and influence only stretch so far,'_ Fenris thought, turning the novel notion over in his mind. ' _And I have allies of my own to call upon now. When he does come for me, my former Master will not have the advantages he is accustomed to having; the victims to fuel his blood magic that turn him from merely powerful into all but unstoppable, nor does he possess any more supporters in Kirkwall. I... have some **advantages**."_

Maybe it was the effects of whatever strong drink it was he had just consumed, but the strange notion suddenly occurred to him that perhaps this soulbonding thing had more advantages for him than Fenris had originally thought. Merrill didn't seem to be good for much else, but there was no-one who knew her who could deny her strength and skill with magic. Even without using blood magic her spells were formidable, when she used her blood to buy extra power at the temporary cost of her physical vitality, she was a powerhouse that he had yet to see an enemy withstand. Hers was a strength and skill that was only continuing to grow the longer she practiced.

_'I suppose I am so accustomed to being around powerful mages that seeing someone with her ability doesn't seem so unusual to me anymore, or rather I've become so inured to it that I fail to see how unusually powerful she really is when she's of a mind. Her own Keeper exiled her rather than let that power go to back a man with plans she does not approve of. If Danarius' advantages with wielding the sacrificial blood of his victims was neutralized by his needing to travel to places where uncomfortable questions would be asked if he tried to travel around with his usual cave full of elves it' quite possible that she might have enough power to be able to meet him on near-equal footing.:_

And... for the price of a kiss, that power could be _his_.

The strange, startling and unsettling turn his thoughts had taken were interrupted by a knock at the front door. It wasn't a polite knock and Fenris had no time to do anything other than pick up his greatsword from where it rested against his bed before whoever was on the other side of the door let themselves in. He was just considering how best to ambush whoever his uninvited guest was when an unwelcome voice called up into the walls.

"It's just me, so if you're thinking about getting the jump on me, I'd consider how much you might _not_ like to end up a charcoal brick before the night is out."

It was the abomination. In his den. Uninvited.

"I'm not ill, so go away," Fenris greeted.

"If you were only ill I'd send my new apprentice to tend to you, I've better things to do. That, and we might all get lucky and she'll mix up the potions you'd need and poison you by accident," Anders replied in the same manner.

Theirs was a mutual antipathy.

"Why are you here? Speak quickly for the sooner you state your business the sooner you can be gone," Fenris said baldly.

Anders, instead of hanging closer to the doorway, indicating that his business could be seen to quickly, navigated past the traps that Fenris had set up in his entryway and on the stairs and invited himself into the sole room that Fenris occupied.

" _Do_ make yourself comfortable," Fenris growled sarcastically.

"What, no tea?" Anders snipped back.

"Only once I've located the arsenic," Fenris promised him.

"Merrill told me the situation between you two," Anders replied, clearing a space on a bench near his fireplace by transferring a book with a cup and an unwashed bowl balanced on it to a clear corner of a table nearby so he could sit on the bench.

Fenris scowled at him, feeling a flash of irritation that the little nuisance couldn't keep her fool mouth shut.

"And don't take it out on her if you don't like it," Anders added, as though reading his thoughts. "Keep in mind that she's isolated now, without either family _or_ her Keeper to turn to for advice. I've put myself in the place of her Keeper and I think we can both see the wisdom of getting her back into the habit of taking advice again. It means she'll think things through more and not just go rushing off doing everything by herself and getting into trouble."

Trouble in her case meant demons. However well-intentioned the deal, demons were demons.

Fenris still growled irritatedly in his throat, but reluctantly conceded the point. However weak and selfish her new teacher might be, having the little chit go to someone for advice was a vast improvement over her previous habit of trying to do everything herself.

"And on that note, that's why I think it's important that you back off a little," Anders said.

"You know nothing of what you speak mage," Fenris replied with dignity. "You've no notion of what it's like to have to share your mind and thoughts, sometimes even your _feelings_ with..."

Fenris trailed off, for the ironic look that Anders was gracing him with spoke _volumes_. For once, Fenris was forced to recant.

"Or perhaps you do. But at least you had a choice in the matter. This was just shoved on to me and I want it undone!"

He paced agitatedly about the room, the thought of being tied to the mage stirring a mixture of complicated and conflicting thoughts and feelings on the matter.

"From what Merrill said to me about it, she doesn't know if it can be undone, or what the consequences will be if it is. It seems there's no record in any lore she knows of for a pair of elves undergoing this strange sort of quasi-possession to undo it. Part of me thinks she might be a little afraid of divine retribution."

Fenris grimaced, it was much as he feared. Allowing her time for greater reflection had allowed her the time to see the advantages to soulbonding with him, and she had decided to take the easy route.

"So she will do nothing then. It is as I thought. She want's to entrap me!"

"Merrill didn't say that she was going to submit to this soulbonding thing Fenris," Anders said, trying for a soothing doctor tone but still looking irritated with him. "Apparently, for some strange reason beyond my ability to grasp, your wishes and feelings on the matter are still important to her; though personally I think that a reflection of her good nature rather than your own merit of such consideration."

"It's been weeks, and there has been no change!" Fenris snarled.

Apparently, one of his paces brought him close enough to the visiting abomination for a good whiff of the alcohol Fenris had just consumed to carry over for Fenris was interrupted by an amazed exclamation.

"What in the name of Andraste's girtle have you been drinking?!" Anders leaned over a little and sniffed. "You've been at the hard stuff. Makers grace, don't breathe on a candle you'll light the whole place on fire."

"It..." Fenris rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Alcohol deadens the link between us. It seems that the only time my thoughts are entirely my own is when I'm drunk, or nearly so."

Anders gave him a troubled look, the Healer in him, clearly disturbed by the implications. Fenris didn't much care for it either on some nights. He'd started out drinking only on occasion; socially, or when the nightmares became too bad and alcohol was a necessary road to oblivion. Now he was drinking more and the stuff he drank was steadily getting stronger. The wines that had been stored in the previous tenants cellar had mostly been wine in name; drank for their flavor rather than alcohol content and inebriating quality. Now he choked down hard, fiery brews whose origins he couldn't put a name to that knocked him sideways and left him all but unconscious for hours.

"I can understand you wanting a bit of privacy, there's time when I wish I could throw Justice out for a night or two, but this isn't healthy, nor is it safe for you in your particular situation. Not to put too fine a point on it, but you still have enemies targeting you Fenris. I know what it's like to live as a fugitive and letting your guard down like that is a good way to get caught. What if they come to get the drop on you, and you're passed out and easy prey for them?"

Fenris snarled, but also, irritatedly conceded the mage's point. Kirkwall, while safer, was not entirely out of Danarius' reach. The thought had certainly crossed his mind every time he contemplated the bottle he'd just bought and knew he was going to drink.

"What else should I do?" Fenris snapped in reply. "Just let her flitter around in the back of my thoughts like a cheerfully contented butterfly? That solves nothing."

"Neither does getting drunk off your ass," Anders pointed out.

"Do you have any alternative, some sort of potion that will do the same thing but not leave me in this state?" Fenris demanded.

The mage seemed to sense Fenris' underlying unease and the measure of pride it had tken him to even ask the question at all, and also seemed unexpectedly sympathetic for he gave the question careful consideration.

"Nothing I would feel comfortable handing out," he said carefully. "There is a controlled substance manufactured in the Circle called Dreambane, but it has dangerous side-effects and the recipe for it was known only to the Senior Enchanters. So fortunately for both of us, that's not an issue. My recommendation is that you take up meditation."

Fenris stared back at him, nonplussed.

"Don't look at me like that, I'm serious. Meditation had a wide variety of proven benefits, most of them involving mental and emotional stability, which you very apparently lack if your temperament is anything to go by."

Fenris glared.

"Besides that, every mage knows that meditation increases focus and resistance to magical effects, particularly blood magic and spirit hexes. It's entirely possible that by increasing your own mental and spiritual focus, you can learn to shield yourself from the effects of this strange bonding thing you two have. That might actually be why Merrill does not seem as bothered by it as you do, I know for a fact that she has begun a morning routine of meditation and... some sort of strange Dalish stretching-and-breathing thing that she claims increases her spiritual focus. She might not actually be as bothered by the soulbonding simply because she is more resistant to it than you are."

"So that's your professional recommendation then," fenris said dryly. "I'm to sit on the floor and... think of nothing."

"There's more to it than that, it's actually quite tricky to master at first and it takes some practice. It's better for you than alcohol I can promise you that. If you don't want to take lessons from Merrill or me, and it seems pretty clear you don't, you might try Sebastion; I'm sure the Chantry practices it in some form or other. Either way, I won't hear of you threatening my apprentice again. As her teacher I would be duty-bound to turn you to ash, and as her friend it would be my pleasure if you even thought of hurting her."

With that, Anders let himself back out and Fenris was left in peace with his thoughts aain, though by this time the effects of the alcohol were beginning to wear off and the other consciousness he sharred his inner space with was beginning to trickle back into the corner of his mind. She was at home studying something, so her thoughts were so focused he wasn't picking anything up other than a sense of her awareness. When Merrill was focused on something it was almost as though she wasn't there, it was only during the times when she let her mind wander that he became aware of her thoughts.

_'Perhaps then, there is something to what the mage said,_ ' Fenris reluctantly acknowledged.

Very well then, he would investigate the angle, but in his own way.


	32. Chapter 32

Merrill admired the three page long synopsis of the first three chapters of An Introduction to The Four Schools of Magic and shook her head a bit, partly in wonder and partly in puzzlement. The way magic was taught in the Chantry Circle and the way that the Dalish thought of magic was very different. Dalish and non-Dalish did not even see the Fade the same way, nor did the Dalish divide magic up into schools in quite the same way either.

The Circle-taught mages divided magic into two basic groups called Matter and Energy, and those groups were further divided into four schools that they called Creation, Entropy, Primal and Spirit. Blood Magic was a fifth School but its practice was outlawed by the Chantry. Creation magic was the first school of matter and manipulated the fabric of what already existed, breaking down or bridging the differences of the substance of the physical world and creating or transmuting new substances. Entropy was the Second school of Matter and dealt with decomposition and decay. In battle, hat school had the sorts of spells that most often sapped an opponent of energy and hexed them with incredible bad luck. In the grouping of magic called Energy, Primal magic seemed to be the sort that Merrill was accustomed to wielding. It was composed of spells that manifested the elemental forces of nature, usually to devastating effect. The second school of Energy, called Spirit, seemed to have all the spells that dealt with mana and spell energy as well as the Fade and Spirits themselves.

Merrill wasn't quite clear on the _exact_ distinctions, or why the Circle of Magi seemed to want to separate and categorize magic, which by its nature, in Merrill's opinion, could not be separated and categorized at all. True it was often easier to understand and study one particular facet of magic as opposed to trying to grasp it all whole, but the way the Humans talked about it, it was almost as if they felt they truly _were_ separate. Merrill was having a hard time understanding the distinctions, so a great deal of her essay to her teacher was a dissection of those distinctions against what she knew of magic in an effort to understand them better. She would have an easier time in learning from him if she could better understand how he viewed magic.

_'Though I suppose the Dalish do have some form of separation of magic into types, but we call ours Resonances, and there are seven of them, based on the seven dan'tien, the spiraling gateways of the spirit that resonate with the universal energy of magic,_ ' Merrill admitted.

In ascending order from lowest to highest was Earth, Water, Fire, Heart, Wind, Mind and Spirit, each with different aspects of strength and weakness. The stronger and clearer a mage's particular dan'tien naturally resonated with the Fade, the more likely a mage was to gravitate towards that particular facet of magic, and also, the more likely a mage was to suffer a weakness to the inimical aspect of that magic. For example, a person with a strong natural resonance to Earth would feel a natural affinity to spells like Stoneflesh and Stonefist as well as a number of spells that seemed to belong to the entropy school like Sleep and Entropic Cloud. Likewise they would be naturally weak to inimical Spirits of Torpor, Fear and Gluttony. This was because the Earth Dan'tien dealt with instinct, survival, security and matters rooted solely in the flesh. That person would also attract blessing-Spirits like Courage, Protection and Fortitude.

She knew that the Shem-style mages thought that there were seven basic sins and each sin seemed to be the special province of a demon. It seemed to her that "sin" was a word that did not translate accurately into Elvhen, for the definition the Ancients used for evil had more to do with offenses against one's community and its members rather than offenses towards the Creators. The Creators abhorred evil even as they acknowledged that, like death and decay, it was an inescapable part of existence. Evil was an _aspect_ of existence, or at least it was a perception of an aspect, just as much as good was.

_'It's strange that they don't go to such lengths to categorize the blessing-spirits as they do the ones they call Demons,_ ' Merrill thought. _'I suppose it's just more evidence about how magic and spirits are viewed. it seems like they're reluctant to attribute anything good to something they fear and do not understand.'_

It was a shame, but that was the way it was in the world outside of the Dalish Clans. Merrill was going to have to make her way here for the foreseeable future.

Her apprenticeship to Anders, while important to her, was only a first step in what she was slowly drawing together into a larger plan. She was an exile from the Dalish, but Merrill's desire to serve the Elvhen people in whatever capacity she could was undiminished. The elves of the Alienage lacked a number of basic amenities such as access to food, a place to dispose of waste that was not potentally dangerous to the community, and clean water. The "hexes" (which seemed to be what they called the courtyard-neighborhood-groups) that comprised Kirkwall's Alienage were the poorest and meanest of the city save only the area called Darktown.

_:It's strange to think of elves living in houses carved out of the stone like we were pretending to be dwarves,:_ she thought to herself. _:But I suppose in this case it makes things easier.:_

If Merril had read her history correctly, when the city had been a quarry hollowed out by the hands of slaves, the area where the Alienage was currently located had been abandoned by even the most determined mine overseers of the day due to the penchant for poison gasses to erupt in choking mists that killed off all their slaves. Merrill had heard stories from the other elves in the Alienage that pockets of gas hidden deep in the stone below the Alienage sometimes still found a crack in the stone and seeped up to the surface and into the cavelet-houses of the alienage, killing the families within. That threat was deadly and infrequent. What _was_ a daily trial was the ever-present grinding poverty, and the unconscious knowledge that all access to food, water and the basic necessities they needed to live were all dependent upon the will of the Shems who ran the city.

_'Not to mention the lack of adequate sewage!'_ Merrill thought with an outraged nose-wrinkle.

The elves currently took their waste away in crude pottery urns and dumped it into an area that might have once been something resembling a series of small ponds but over time had become merely an open cesspit where trash from the upper city was disposed of along with the waste of the city's poorest denizens. The smell coming off it was so bad when the wind shifted that not even the poorest of the elves would live anywhere near it. She had heard that there had once, long ago, been a system to filter out the trash but it had long since been abandoned as a hopeless case. Fresh water was bought from vendors for elves pulling water up from one of the few wells still operative in the alienage would be taking their lives live into their own hands, .

The elves of the alienage also had no independent means for producing food, or medicines, leaving them entirely dependent on the "generosity" of the humans running the markets and controlling the supplies of food delivered into the city. Kirkwall was a sea-side city, so one would _think_ that at least the right to fish would be a given. But no, even this necessity was tightly controlled by the shem. Elves were allowed to work on ships, but the number and sort of fishing vessels that they were allowed to own outright was very limited (that was to say, only the oldest cockle-shells that were barely sea-worthy).

Technically, an elf was allowed to build his own fishing vessel, but the price all of the fines and fees to register and be allowed to fish and re-sell ones catch at the market made such at thing a mere dream. If an elf was lucky enough to own one old, cracked, dilapidated, leaky fishing boat, he could cast his nets for the person who 'insured' his fines were paid, and if his catch did not match whatever monetary quota was supposed to be his fine's worth, the whole catch could be confiscated by the insurer until the "debt" was paid off. Most elven fishermen never saw their fish. Merrill wasn't savvy in the ways of money like Varricc was, but even she saw there was something definitely off about the situation.

Housing, thankfully, was not _as_ great a problem as the rest, though it was still chancy at times. The crude, cave-like dwellings that had been carved from the naked rock by slaves hundreds of years ago were mostly still intact to that day. Usually, whole family groups all shared one of the tall stone dwellings in a hex, the height of which could sometimes reach three or four stories depending on how tall the natural face of the stone that had been carved into had been. However, the housing could still be dangerous to live in at times. The individual house-caves had been hollowed out many, many decades ago, and crudely at that. They were on occasion prone to collapse without warning, a danger that could be alleviated with the aid of either a good dwarven engineering team, or a Dalish nature mage with some training in stone-shaping to magic out the weaknesses in the stone.

_'The buildings here could be much improved if I went about it the right way.'_

Merrill had spent her youth studying and exploring the ruins of the ancient elves thus she had learned of the ancient spells that her ancestors had used to build and maintain their cities. The Dalish moved from place to place so frequently that they merely held the information they had learned about the ways the elves of Arlathan had built and ran their cities rather than being able to utilize it. The elves of Arlathan had combined nature and magic and an intuitive engineering that had rivaled the lost Dwarven cities in their grandeur and convenience. They'd had readily available running water, storage that could preserve food for incredibly long periods of time, heating and cooling, sophisticated lighting and transportation, clever farming methods. Merrill was certain that she could re-create some of those ancient techniques that her ancestors had used, right there in the Alienage.

_'It would be next to impossible to create a whole Alienage of buildings all at once; for one thing the magics that they wove into their great works were all powerful spells that required several mages working together to create. For another thing, I'm sure I ruffle a lot of feathers here if I ran about demanding that these elves change their way of life, even for something supposedly better, on my say-so alone. Better that I give them a really good, undeniably useful example of what I can offer them and let the lure of it do the work for me.'_

Her goal was to create a clinic. It didn't sound like a large goal on the surface, especially compared to Merrill's previous goal of saving the Elvhen with the Eluvian, restoring her peoples heritage and power. However, Merrill's intended execution of her goal was so multi-layered and (hopefully) far-reaching, that it required careful study and planning beforehand.

She was currently taking measurements, researching the exact spells she would need to use... and imagining out her dream-clinic. Well, in between bouts of studying all that Anders was determinedly cramming into her head, she was. Merrll partly suspected that he was such a stern taskmaster, loading her down with books to read, lists of symptoms and diseases to memorize, and spells and excersizes to practice was partly a way to keep her from experimenting with Spirits.

_'I suppose I can't entirely blame him for that one, given my history with them. Besides, I do admittedly still have a lot to learn, and not just about Spirit-Healing but about medicine in general before I'm ready to take on an authority of my own... but that doesn't mean I can't dream about what my future clinic to be."_

In her mind Merrill's clinic was comprised of an entire first floor with beds well-spaced along both walls. Each bed would be just under chest-high to make it easy to tend the patients without any stooping or tippy-toeing (Creators! the tippy-toeing she had to do in Anders clinic!) and each bed would have its own chest of drawers underneath it stuffed with rolled bandages, and medicines and salves and tools that could be sterilized and then stored away safely. There would also be an area where she could create and prepare medicines, with a still and a stove and racks for drying herbs. Oh! and definitely a place where she could keep prepared medicines stored close to hand, floor-to ceiling drawered shelves holding pot after pot of medicines (held in stasis-jars if she had anything to say about it!). It might be nice to have a small section for isolated care, like a possibly contagious patient or a new mother.

She already knew that she was going to fully utilize the flat roof of her clinic and make it into a green heaven with herbs for medicine and, if she had her way, food to be stored so that people were not so dependent upon the limited generosity of their human overlords. And once her people saw that a better, more independent way of life was possible (and she got the right members of the community on her side) who knew what else might come of it. A clinic's side-porch might be a fine place for a school (and if the students should learn of thier peoples history and culture well...) and there was no reason why, once Merrill had a basic better sewage system in place that the other elves in the Alienage might not tap into it.

_'But that's all just clouds and wishful thinking right now,'_ she acknowledged with a rueful sigh. ' _Best to concentrate on what's right in front of me.'_

No, Merrill was not in the least timid about dreaming big, and she had more than enough patience to play the long game. If she could take a shard of the Eluvian and clean it of Taint bit by bit over the course of years, she was more than equipped to take her training as First and find a way to put it into practice!


	33. Chapter33

"Back again Fenris?" the knight-Captain said in surprise as Fenris paced up the steps to the Gallows and though the gates proper.

"I am," he nodded. "Have you time this day?"

Cullen looked a bit wryly amused and said

"I have other duties I could be seeing to right now, but, luckily, that's what lieutenants are for. I assume you are here again to try to steal my technique."

Fenris smiled sharply.

"The Circles in Minrathous and elsewhere in Tevinter do not have Templars such as yourself," he replied. "None of them have teeth, nor can they cancel out magic the way your lot do here. I _have_ the lyrium."

He held out an arm, displaying the fact that he needed no such drink as the Templars were subject to in order to reap the benefits.

"It would be a great advantage that I should determine your secret. Perhaps, not only for myself."

"We Templars don't just run about giving away the secrets of our order," the Knight-Captain informed the elf dryly. "But I think in your case... perhaps it would not be a bad thing to let it slip. The Knight Commander is..."

Cullen shook his head and remained silent, unwilling to speak ill of a commander he clearly respected. His eyes looked haunted by demons from his own past, however the cloud passed a moment later and he said instead

"Mages can be very dangerous, to themselves and to other around them, even without meaning to. They do need watching. They _do_."

"You will find no argument here," Fenris agreed.

Fenris had, at first, tried out Ander's suggestion. He had gone to the Chantry and sought out Sebastion, who had tried to teach him the ways of meditation. It was not that he lacked self-discipline that had made Fenris so quickly discover that he was ill-suited to the practice. It was that he hated actually being alone with his thoughts in the way that meditation required. He could brood. In fact he was well known for his skill at brooding, however brooding had the result of keeping his anger hot and his temper sharp. Fenris had thought that mastering the ability to be alone with his thoughts would be easy, and at first, clearing away the clutter of distraction with imposed self-discipline had not been a great challenge. The trouble with meditation for him was in the nature of meditation itself. Brooding was about stoking that fire of anger within him; keeping that sense of grudge burning hot. Meditation however was all about serenity and acceptance. Meditation required the release of his anger, and acknowledgement of pain but also the ability to let go its hold over him, and that was something Fenris was unwilling to do. He needed that anger. He needed it to access his power, and to keep his hatred sharp so that he was ready when the day came.

It had been during routine trip through the streets of Kirkwall near the docks that Fenris had struck upon an alternate solution to his block with meditation. He had been waiting for something at a cross roads, when his eye had fallen upon one of the invisible, impoverished Shem that peopled the place; a former Templar by the name of Samson. He was shaking and clawing at the dirt, the lyrium withdrawals hitting him hard that day. Fenris' mind had immediately jumped from pity for the man's suffering to the sudden notion that, if lyrium was what the Templars used to defeat the mages magic, then.... perhaps he, with his lyrium grafted right into his skin, might learn the same trick they used, but suffer no side-effects from it!

He had taken the ferry to the Gallows the next day to seek out the Templar whom Hawke and the rest of his group had had dealings with in the past, whom he knew to be a very decent sort of man. Knight-Captain Cullen had reluctantly informed him that the order did not enlist elves, for the Templars were part of the Chantry. He also added that Templar training usually began while they were young, though the vows could not be said until the novitiate had come of age. Fenris was disappointed (partly in the hypocrisy that, even though he was an elf who worshiped the Maker, he as usual, had no say in things) but Cullen seemed to recognize the same hypocrisy and seemed to feel bad for it for he added, that Fenris was welcome to come and spar with him... and learn what he could. The silent remark eing that, while Cullen couldn't give away Chantry and Templar secrets, there was an ability between warriors for understanding and stealing the secrets of one another's techniques over prolonged exposure. Perhaps, if Fenris fought with the Templar for long enough, he might figure out the Templar's magic cancelling technique for himself. It was a pretty way of bending the rules and Fenris was pleased to take him up on it.

"You fight fiercely, and tenaciously. No wonder the Champion of Kirkwall counts you among his number of trusted companions," Cullen said as he called a halt to the mornings excersize.

It was a good, sweaty mornings work, sparring with the Templar. He had fine technique and an excellent skill with timing that made sparring one on one with him a great challenge. Even if Fenris never figured out how it was that the Tempars were able to disrupt magic, he was confident that he at least had sharpened his skills with a sword.

"I return the compliment," Fenris said, sincerely. "The Templars are fortunate to have a fighter of your skill in their order."

Fenris caught the ferry back over to the Kirkwall docks, passing as ever, under the ominous twin statues of the City in Chains, an ever-present reminder that the city had been built upon the backs of slaves. Once on the other side he cut though one of the nearby mazes of alleyways, darting through an impromptu market and pausing at one of the more reputable street vendor in that place, which in lowtown meant, one of the ones who almost never sold rat.

"...and could have sworn the little Dalish was daft to go pokin' around in it, but that's the third time this week that she's been down in that muck-pit. I wonder what she finds so fascinating about it?"

One elf was speaking in private conversation to another elf; they seemed to be two of the few elves who had ready work that took them out of their Alienage. It was the reference to a Dalish that had caught his ear, and he wondered if they were speaking of the witch or of someone else. There could not be very many Dalish in the city.

"I wonder how she stands the smell. And hasn't she apprenticed to that... man in darktown that, ah, cares for the sick?"

Fenris appreciated thier discretion in not naming the abomination as a mage out loud in the open as his suspicions about eh "Dalish" in question were confirmed. One probably would not be wise to fling the words mage and apostate about this close to the Gallows unless one wanted a visit from the Templars later that night.

"She has, my lad Sorin confirmed it," the first elf said to the other. "It seems that, aside of studying medicine, she's also been running about visiting the Alienage Keepers in all the different hexes, giving away free medicine and talking about who knows what over tea."

"Strange girl," the last elf said with a shrug.

The two elves moved on and Fenris wondered what she was up to.

The usual feeling of unease he got when mages were left to their own devices increased. If she was up to something and no-one was watching her, there was the very rel possibility that there might be demons involved. And if there were demons, it would be in the middle of Kirkwall and not out on Sundermount this time. It wasn't time to get the Templars involved, but he really should check up on her to make sue she was staying out of trouble. However, the thought of visiting her again so soon after he had essentially threatened to kill her did not seem like a very good idea.

_'Perhaps I should make my inquiries through the abomination, her new teacher, instead.'_

There was a combination that worried him. Merrill had lost the support and protection of her Clan and the guidance of her Keeper, a very wise woman for a mage. Instead she was now apprenticed to Anders of all people. At first Fenris had cautiously approved of the suggestion, mainly as a way to make certain she had someone who strongly disapproved of blood magic watching over her shoulder to make sure she didn't backslide. Now he was not so certain that Anders was the best choice. He was a mage and a fine Healer; however... he was a _weak_ man. He ran from one situation to the next, never making any commitments. He had turned his back on the Grey Wardens who had taken him in. He had given in to the request of some powerful spirit and become an abomination, Fenris wasn't sure that Justice would not try to influence her in some way through her new teacher. Merrill listened to Anders, and confided in him now, if the fact that he had come to Fenris to warn him off his threats was any indication. It could be a further danger to give a man of weak will such ready influence over a powerful mage, and one that was tied to him no less.

_'I suppose..._ ' he considered reluctantly. ' _That I could exert some influence of my own.'_

He very nearly dismissed the notion out of hand as was his habit, however, a further thought occurred to him. He was learning the skills of a Templar against the day that Danarius came to collect him in hopes that it would give him an additional edge if all of his other sureties failed him. He had befriended Hawke with the notion that he would make a powerful ally on that day as well. Nearly all of his work in kirkwall thus far had been with an eye to forging alliances that would one him the help he needed when he needed it. How useful would a mage of known combat ability be?

_'Even if she has given up the blood magic as she has said, her current power and training would make her a valuable asset._ '

He knew perfectly well that his thought on the matter were cold and calculating; centered entirely upon his own selfish wish for survival at any cost. That was the man he was, it was the man a magister had made him. Danarius did nothing without calculating his own advantage first. He held no parties that did not net him some political gain, did no favors without an eye to the favorst hat would be owed to him, he sponsored no youths to the Adademy without a thought to their future potential and use to him, patronized no clients without an eye to whatever of the various strategies he was working on at the moment.

Once his slave and bodyguard, around him and at his feet at all times, Fenris, not unobservant and no fool even in the days when he had served his master out of a misplaced sense of loyalty, had absorbed everything he'd observed. As a man, Fenris thought only of being free of Danarius, free from pursuit and the ever-present threat of slavery, forever. Everything he did was to that end. If he was a bit calculating, that was only to be expected. His life and freedom were on the line and he needed every last advantage he could get. Perhaps a re-examination of his current potential allies and resources was in order. Then a new thought occurred to him.

_'What about after he comes? What about **after** I've defeated him?'_

Fenris had never really given any thought to after. Up until then, such a notion had seemed impossible to imagine. The idea of a world, of a life without the constant threat of recapture by his former master, was as easy to think of and seemed just as unlikely as the thought of his sprouting wings. But... it might happen. There might come a day when he would be free of his chains forever... and what then?


	34. Chapter 34

Merrill was ankle-deep in foul muck and very much reluctant to even consider wading in any farther. Still, she had to finish mapping out this series of inter-connected ponds and the sludgey-rivers of waste and debris that flowed into them so that she could get an accurate picture of what she would be dealing with. If she purified the muck from the ponds only to discover that she'd missed a tributary of foulness, then all of her hard work would not last for very long at all. She also needed to figure out where that sewage was coming from. The only fortunate part of her day so far was the fact that she knew a spell that deadened her nose. She closed her eyes and sent her sense of "earth" outward and down once again.

Earlier the last week she had investigated the stone bedrock of the Alienage in search of those pockets of noxious, deadly gasses trapped within them. She's used the ancient spell of stoneshaping (that she suspected had once been taught to her ancestors by dwarves, despite the fact that they could not do magic) to seal off every crack and crevice in the stone that might give the chokemist a way out, then she had Shaped the smallest of tunnels through the rock to the surface in a collapsed structure that had long been abandoned where she'd had a specially prepared spell waiting for the gas to escape. It purified the air by crystalizing the dangerous parts of the gas and allowing the cleaned air to escape. Merrill now had several very large thick glass jars of small crystals of various chemicals that had been sealed deep within the earth. They might prove useful sooner or later. Several of them, she knew, could be used in various ancient alchemical processes, but that might be a project for another time.

Now, she was investigating possible sewage lines. Her people dumped thier waste in a marshy cesspit in an unpopulated area in the very back corner of the alienage. It might have once been a garden, long ago, but now nothing would grow there due to the sheer amount of waste clogging every inch of it. The ground was poisoned by it and the air was none too pleasant. The interconnected marshey puddles of sludge however, could be very useful if she could get a handle on the situation and turn it around.

She was making progress on getting the elven community behind her, which she knew, was not just an advantage, but an absolute necessity if any of her plans were to work. There was no point in having a clinic set up o serve the community if the community she wanted to serve would not come to her. The medicines she brought to the various "Keepers" (which were really more like the leading elders of each hex) had done wonders for paving the way to good relations with them.

Alienage life was more complex than Merrill had thought at first. The alienage consisted of more than just her courtyard with the vhenandhal, it was actually divided up into twelve Hexes, which were neighborhoods of homes carved out of cliff-rock centuries ago by the slaves that had lived there before Kirkwall became part of the Free Marches all focused around a stone courtyard. Each Hex was sort of its own community. Each Hex was run by its own Keeper, and they had their own midwives/healers, each little neighborhood had its own craftsmen, its own little market, its own way of getting food, its own network of families who had their own structure of alliances and rivalries. Merrill was near to certain that, unlike the Dalish Clans, however, that each Hex Keeper met with and consulted with regularly with all or nearly all of the others.In fact she was fairly sure that, despite each Hex having its own unique character, tat they all considered themselves part of the same alienage, and they worked together more than any Dalish Clan probably ever would.

As Dalish and isolated as she had been up until this point, they had yet to accept Merrill as one of their own, but she had begun to make it a point to visit round the Hexes with their Keepers to offer supplies from her own store of medicines and the occasional pot of tea... she was making progress.

_:Well, progress with some more than others..._ : Merrill thought ruefully of her recent visit to the Sixth Hex.

The Keeper there was an intimidatingly elegant man with a cold and aloof demeanor who, despite the fact that he lived in poverty managed to come off as somehow looking down his perfect patrician nose at her and wondering why she was soiling his doorstep with her unasked-for presence. His wife had been nice, and the two of them had shared a lovely pot of tea, but Keeper Asuya Aluethi had been entirely unapproachable. She'd tried to visit with the Keeper of Eleventh Hex, but that Hex was populated entirely by thugs who seemed to like to do nothing else but brawl amongst themselves day and night. Her attempts to meet with the Keeper had led to the assumption that she had wanted to challenge him for the leadership, and she'd been promptly invited (invited!) to have a warm up fight or ten with any of the nearest thugs, just to get her in shape for the main event.

_:It was almost as though they were trying to be hospitable, but their notion of hospitality is so divorced from the norm that they wouldn't know a friendly visit if it bit them on the nose!_ : Merrill thought in amazement.

Some of those thugs had been truly terrifying to look at, all fierce grins and tattoos all over the place. Merrill had thought that if the least of them looked like they might hold off a small invasion, the greatest of them, their Keeper, would be too terrifying for her to want anything to do with and Merrill had promptly escaped to safer lands.

"Miss Dalish!" a small piping voice from off to her right called out to her.

Merrill looked over her shoulder at Perdah, a young, orphaned elven lad of about nine or so, that had taken an interest in following her about. He belonged loosely to Soilana's Hex (which was the Second Hex), though he tended to travel where there was food available. He did odd jobs, such as running messages or washing pots, to cadge his next meal if it didn't look likely there would be a table with any extra food on it. He had come to realize that the Dalish was a reliable (and tasty!) source of food, though he remained wary of her very clear use of magic.

"Hullo Perdah," Merrill greeted.

"What're ya doin in this place? It stinks!"

The last was said more with awe than with disdain. As a young boy he was more interested in finding things that were interesting to young boys rather than picking up any fastidiousness.

"I'm trying to map it, so I can see where the water is coming from and flowing to," Merrill replied. "I'm nearly finished."

It was hard to catch a break in between what Anders was determinedly stuffing into her head and her own pet projects, but Merrill had always prided herself on being a very quick study. Her long time cleansing Taint from the Eluvian shards was paying dividends both with her training as a Healer, and with her current pet project.

"Perdah," she turned to the young boy, suddenly coming across a thought.

The young boy with his propensity for visiting every Hex and knowing most of the families within each Hex, might know some of the things Merrill was currently at a loss on. She couldnt do the entire process on her own, even the seedlings she was currently growing for the purpose couldn't clear it out overnight; there was a lot of detritus and junk, like broken chairs and bits of rag an bone, choking the swamp the she needed taken out before the real work could begin. To that end, she needed strong hands and backs capable of the work.

"You seem to know everyone here," she began in that admiring tone she had found worked well with getting the other Keepers to like her. "Would you perhaps know a few strong, braw lads who could use some extra coin, but wouldn't mind getting their hands, and other parts of them dirty for a few days?"

"Sure!" he said brightly. "Some of 'em might even do just fer the chance ta see real, raw magic from a real Dalish."

His tone indicated that _he_ would certainly stick around for such a thing. Wary he might be, but he was still curious as any at the sight of something new. All the Shem locked away their mages, so the opportunity to see real magic performed was low. No matter how people feared it, there were still as many who would see it as a novelty just as long as there were no demons about.

"Are ya gonna work magic, Miss Dalish?"

"Why would you think I can work magic?" she temporized, wary of letting her Gift become the subject of common gossip and thus, possible Templar scrutiny.

"Yer Dalish," the boy said with a shrug. "An' everyone says ya got a magic-ing teacher, though they call him "the man downstairs," everyone knows they mean that Healing-Shem in Darktown."

"Not every Dalish can work magic you know," Merrill felt obliged to point out. "And as for the possibility of me working it, well, we shall see. Now, I need to go get cleaned up so I can put in my day in the clinic with the man downstairs."

* * *

Anders was beginning to worry about the tardiness of his apprentice, when she was usually so very punctual, but the sight of her showing up in her second-best clothes with her hair wet and smelling of soap told him why. She had given herself a bath. Merrill bowed her greeting and awaited his instruction.

"That case of the Rattles is shaping up to be a fair epidemic," Anders said, pointing her over to a knot of elderly and little street urchins coughing pathetically in one corner. "I've dispensed medicines about darktown to those I can trust, and good luck to them on getting them to the ones who need it, instead of the hands of the local crime-lords. These are the ones who came in early on in hopes of getting to it before it became worse."

Merrill nodded and got directly to work while he kept watch over her from the corner of his eye while he worked his own Healing. Epidemics in Darktown, he knew from long experience as a Healer, was a lot like trying to bail back the tide with a bucket. Anders and his new apprentice could cure a whole lot of individual patients, but as long as they remained in an environment where the infection was likely to spread, and they remained unwashed and malnourished, the two Healers were likely to see them again before long.

He nodded to himself in satisfaction as he watched the gentle, blue-green magic that characterized Merrill's own Healing magic, seep with deft precision into the nearest patient and cleanse the sickness from the elderly man's body. It seemed her work cleansing the Eluvian of Taint was paying off after all. Anders had sometimes wondered if Merrill might be able to do the same with him that she had managed with the shards of her Eluvian; that was, to cleanse some of the Taint from him. It was no longer an active Blight, and there was no Archdemon or Darkspawn screaming in his dreams, but every now and then Anders felt the pull of his Tainted blood. Even a little lessening would be a blessing. He knew that it was a senseless hope however. Magic had no effect on the Taint of the Blight, if it had Healers like himself would be priceless for their ability rid people of Taint.

"So, what is it you're working on in the alienage?" he inquired conversationally of his apprentice as they both began their work for the day.

He had the wry amusement of watching her magic "hiccup" in surprise as she looked over at him. Her transparent face showed her amazement at "all-seeing" teachers powers (something that must have been instilled in her by her previous Teacher).

"How did you know about that?" Merrill asked in amazement.

"I'm a Healer," Anders said, preserving his air of mystery.

The truth of the matter was far more mundane than some arcane ability to read her thoughts, though if he'd had a mind to plumb her secrets it would not be hard to do so, the little woman was as easy to read as a page of text. He was the sole Healer that Darktown possessed, and it was well-known that Merrill was his apprentice. There were plenty of grateful patients and thier hoardes of equally grateful children who acted as his ears and eyes on the streets whether he asked them to or not. It wasn't only his ability with magic, or his former connections that kept him safe, information was a valued and useful commodity as well.

"Well..." Merrill said. "The Alienage... has no sewage."

"Ah!" Anders nodded to himself.

It was a problem in Darktown too, though, with the number of Dwarven Carta members who had come to him for Healing and didn't like being indebted to him as a result, it was slowly becoming less of a problem as he cashed in the debts to improve the decrepit sewage system in that part of Kirkwall.

"It's your luck then," he added a pleased moment later. "Sanitation is always a big concern for a Healer, and I have several very useful books on the matter. I'll add them to your reading list."

Truth to tell, Anders wasn't sure how she managed to read all she gave him in such a short amount of time. Read it and be able to spit it back at him on the drop of a question. He'd taken the better part of a year to read through what she had digested in the course of the last two months. Then again, perhaps he should not be so surprised, she had memorized all of the collective lore of the Dalish. Still, if this was what an apt pupil she was, Anders was amazed that Marethari had been induced to give her up at any cost.

"The Elves once had a system for sanitation that relied on an intercropped system of specifically modified plants to cleanse and purify the water," Merrill said. "Do your books have any notes on that?"

He shook his head, partly in amusement. Trust Merrill to come at any problem from an elven perspective.

"No, mostly mundane methods and the occasional spell, depending on the book."

"Nothing learned is ever wasted, as Marethari was fond of saying. Thank-you for your help."

The two of them worked their way patiently through the small crowd of sick and injured. The injured tended to trust Anders more than they did his apprentice, for despite his attempts to keep her past proclivities a secret, there persisted the rumor that Anders' apprentice was a blood mage and no-one with any open wound wanted anything to do with her. Still, her handling of the sick was swiftly catching up to a professional level, and she still halved his workload as a result. If she kept up at that pace, before too much longer he would have to consider taking the final plunge and teaching her genuine Spirit Healing. Once she took that step, it would only be a short matter of time before she would round out her education with experience and... well, he wasn't sure what would come next.

"Well, look at the two of you," a cheerful voice said off to one side.

"Hawke," Anders greeted from over his shoulder as he finished fusing together the bone(s) of the patient under his hands.

The sweet, sursurating chime of the Spirit aiding his magic whispered in alongside the magic he pulled through the Fade and added an extra push of power when and where he needed it. Hawke stood there in the doorway of the now-half-empty clinic.

'Well!' Anders thought in amazement. 'Half-empty and it's just past noon!'

He might even get to have lunch that day! His stomach growled and Merrill, not waiting for her teacher to find an excuse to get out of it, had already cleared off a space on a bench and pulled out the lunch-basket she always brought with her. It usually contained bread and cheese, whatever fruit or vegetable she could get hold of, plus the occasional boiled egg or smoked fish for lunch. She seemed to have taken it upon herself to see that her teacher ate with greater regularity. He could (and often did) ignore the other two women who manned his clinic in favor of getting more of his work done if he so chose. Merrill, however, had the most effective puppy eyes he had ever seen, and she was not afraid to use them.

"Don't we make an industrious pair," Varric said from just behind Hawke.

"Mind you don't blow anything up," was Fenris' inevitable dry and snarky comment.

"Hmmm..." Isabella said slyly from where she looked like she was considering riffling through his medicine cabinet.

His _locked_ medicine cabinet.

"Stay out of that Isabella," Anders told her. "I know you have an allergy to locked things staying locked around you, but there's nothing in there more interesting than cures for coughs and burn-salves."

"Oooh, yes," Merrill seconded. "All of his interesting books are that way." She pointed.

Anders shot her an exasperated look, but then what she'd said caught up to him.

"Hey!" he protested a moment later as Isabella went after her quarry. "How would you know where my personal grimoires are?"

Merrill blushed and looked chagrined.

"I just had a little peek," she blushed deeply.

"Haven't I been giving you enough to read?" he demanded, not really angry with her, but a little miffed that she was going through his things wihout asking. He already shared his mind and body with a Spirit of Justice, did he have no privacy at all?

"Well, that's all... Serious, mage work. I was looking for something a little more, umm...." she blushed even deeper. "Fun."

"Fun," he said dubiously, not quite seeing what she was dancing around.

"Well I'd heard from Isabella that you used to be... um, well. I was just wondering if you had any... spells, that might, well..."

"That might..." he pressed.

"Dirty spells," she admited, with a crimson blush. "I'd heard you knew spells that made things, well, exciting."

Anders looked at her in surprise and in his surprise the first thing he thought popped right out of his mouth.

"But you don't have anyone to use those sorts of spells with!"

The look she gave him was one of crushed hopes and dreams, pathetic as a starving puppy.

"Someday I might," she said, sadly.

Anders had to remind himself that Merrill wasn't like him, a man who had screwed over almost everything good that had come his way with bad decision after bad decision and who could probably only look forward to making worse ones in the future. She was a young woman, a very _pretty_ young woman, who had her whole life still ahead of her, possibly filled with nice options.

_'Well, if she can get past this soul-bonding thing with that cantankerous blowhard of an elf, she'll have good options.'_

"Aw Kitten..." Isabella said, sauntering over and giving his apprentice's shoulders a sisterly squeeze that still managed to look lascivious. "Why don't you come over to the Mansion with me and Hawke tonight, I'll tell you a few secrets that'll make your toes curl, no magic required."

Both Fenris and Anders gave the buxom pirate queen matching looks of horror.

"Stop trying to corrupt the girl," Varric interrupted before either of them could protest. "Daisy's just fine the way she is."


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shameless plug, but for anyone who wants more Merrill'y goodness, I have a scrap-fic called Wolf In the Crossroads that takes place after Dragon Age : Inquisition, and stars Solas and the Eluvian. I hope you'll all go check it out.

Fenris had been assessing the state of the clinic while the rest of their lot had been bantering back and forth with one another. There was a marked improvement. It was much cleaner, and his markings no longer itched with the tell-tale feeling of off-key wrongness that signaled the same darker magic that permeated the stone of the rest of darktown, which meant that she had been about cleansing that as well. The locked cabinets that Isabella had investigated had been filled with canisters and jars of medicines, and lines of bleached bandaged hung out to dry in the back. The beds and benches for patients looked sturdier as well. When he looked over at her tending the line of patients her teacher had assigned to her, she seemed quite content, Fenris had to acknowledge, if only privately, that it was not a bad thing to see her happy with making herself useful. It was better than her feeling depressed and bereft for having left her clan.

"It looks like you've been hard at work here Daisy," Varricc, whose story-tellers eyes never seemed to miss anything said to her.

"Oh, yes thank-you," Merrill said as she settled down herself to enjoy some bread and cheese from the luncheon she'd prepared for her teacher. "It is difficult to get him to eat regular meals, but I manage. He doesn't put up near as much a fight as he used to."

Typically, Merrill had focused on the matter at hand, rather than what he had meant. In reply Anders gave a small shrug and a slightly ruefull and amused smile, adding

"I've come to recognise the futility of it, and... the puppy eyes."

"Oh dosh, there's no puppy eyes," Merrill defended.

"Sweetling, if your eyes were any more puppy, you'd have orphans wanting to adopt you."

"Well as long as you eat, I suppose I'll have to live with them," Merrill replied practically.

She promptly buried her pert little nose in some book the abomination had given her, some sort of magey nonsense no doubt, and Fenris sensed her sink into that focused state she always got into while reading. Apparently her teacher knew her well enough to know that Merrill reading books meant that she wasn't going to so much as glance at the food she was supposed to be eating.

"That's homework, you can read it later," he said, nimbly plucking the book from her grasp and snapping it shut. "If you're going to nag me about eating properly, its only fair I get to return the favor."

"Oh yes..." Varricc said dubiously as he glanced at the title of it. "I can see how anyone would be _riveted_ at a book called "On the Proper Sewage and Sanitation of the Port of Luovre" especially over their meal. Daisy, you should maybe _stop_ letting him give you books if this is what he picks out for you."

"I requested that one," Merrill replied honestly.

Fenris frowned, thinking back to his overheard conversation from a few days earlier.

So she was definitely up to something. She was always up to something. It was always meant with the kindest of intentions, but she had a very bad habit of taking on too much and biting off more than she could easily swallow. If her teacher wasn't wary enough to cotton on to when Merrill was planning something, then it seemed that it fell to him to curb her enthusiasm.

"Isn't the abomination keeping you busy enough with working in the clinic and all that magey nonsense he's trying to stuff in your head?" he demanded of her in irritation.

Merrill looked blankly back at him. Fenris looked at her impatiently for not having read his mind and understanding what he was getting at.

"Whatever it is you're thinking of doing, don't," Fenris said shortly, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at her. "You have enough on your plate as it is, and you're probably not ready anyway."

Merrill looked offended. Fenris cut her off with a sharp gesture.

"I mean it. Focus on your studies and keep out of trouble."

"I'm not in any trouble," Merrill grumbled rebelliously.

Varricc and Anders both looked alarmed.

"Daisy, are you planning something?" Varricc asked warily.

"And why didn't you mention this to me?" Anders asked hard on the heels of Varricc's question.

"I'm only doing research right now," Merrill said soothingly. "There's still a very long way to go and a great deal to do before I'm ready to take any action."

"So you _are_ planning something," Varric said. "And you didn't tell me? I'm hurt."

Merrill looked distressed over the thought of possibly having hurt her friend's feelings, and Fenris rolled his eyes. She was so sensitive.

"Well when you feel you are," Anders said in a teacherly tone that brooked no argument. "You'll come to _me_ about it first so we can talk it over. If nothing else, I might be able to point out something you've missed. I am older than you, and I've spent a lot of time in places and seen things you haven't. It's always good to get another perspective."

"Oh..." Merrill said, a bit uncertainly.

It was clear from the look on her face that she was a bit put out about their butting into her apparently super-secret pet project. To Fenris' mind that was all to the good. She needed more people butting into her life to keep her from doing something stupid and potentially disastrous.


	36. Chapter 36

It had been a long day at the clinic, and Merrill walked back to her little hovel in the Alienage from Darktown on sore feet.

_:Every other time I turned around it seemed like our number of patients at the clinic had multiplied by two_!: Merrill thought to herself, anticipating only going back to her stone hovel in the alienage, making a cup of tea and a small dinner, and then collapsing on her bed for the night.

: _Healing magic takes a lot more out of me than I'd thought it would_ ,: she thought. " _But I must admit that I do feel better for helping people who sorely need it. Now if only there were a way I could bring that same help to my own people int he alienage. Heaven knows I'm getting practice in, maybe it's time I thought more carefully about making my own clinic.:_

She knew from her own researches however that even a small clinic set up to serve her own people would bean expensive undertaking at first. Even if she could brew her own medicines, she still would need to find (or build) a place that was large enough to accomodate not only a number of patients in good sanitary conditions with space for beds and a surgery, bt also have room for a still to make medicines, she'd have to buy bandages and all of the specialized tools that came with the healing trade. That was likely only the begining, lus she wanted to get a better handle on the alienage's sanitation problem.

: _And I shouldn't even think to do any of this without the full backing of all of the Keepers in each hex of the Alienage_ ,: Merrill thought. : _That would be the same as walking into a rival clan and announcing my intention to set myself up as an alternate Keeper they could all turn to if they didn't like the current Keeper. But how do I go about winning their support? I've visited all of them with tea and medicines at least once, some of them didn't even meet with me, and the rest... well, I still feel very much an outsider.:_

Merrill continued mulling the problem over on her way home from her work at Anders' clinic, not coming up with anything that would be of any clear use to her right away, and resolving that she was just going to have to try harder to win them all over before she brought her request to open up a clinic int he alieange to them. The stonne face of the cliffside that her little home in the alieanage loomed before her as she stepped out of the shade of the vhenandhal tree, and she was not in the least surprised to find that the door was unlocked. Merrill was surprised, however, when she opened her door to discover that there was unexpected company in her house!

_:Mythal's mercy!_ : she exclaimed to herself as she made out the identities of the persons seated round her book-strewn table in the main room of her little home.

They were the Alienage elite, the Keepers of each of the Twelve Hexes. Much like the Keepers of the Clans of the Dalish, the Keepers of the hexes there in the Alienage were the leaders and (so much as anyone could be in the slums). They were each the protectors and providers for all of the elves who lived within their hex; the arbiters of justice, the leaders in times of crisis, indispensable founts of wisdom and staid beacons of strength.

There was Old Yama, the Keeper of First Hex, which was the Hex that Merrill had settled in. Out of all the Keepers he was the oldest, and the most respected. His head was bald but for a long fringe of white hair down his shoulders, and the bushiest eyebrows Merrill had ever seen on an elf. If it hadn't been for his elegantly pointed ears, Merrill would have thought herself addressing a dwarf, for he appeared a diminutive old man who walked hunched over with the help of a wooden cane. Out of all of the Keepers he was considered the most wise and learned, thus even the other Keepers of the other Alieange Hexes tended to bow to his authority. The first hex, being the one closest to the main gate, focused on an alienage equivalent of diplomacy, keeping relations between the Shem and the alieange as well as it could be kept in such an unequal relationship.

In charge of the Second Hex was ferocious a young elven woman; small, lithe, fierce and intelligent woman named Soilana. She looked like an assassin, and moved with a cat-like agility and incredible speed. She had trained the elves of her hex in ways of gathering information covertly and in infiltration and assassin-style fighting. Merrill was pretty sure the average citizen would be terrified to know they were capable of. Soilana wisely did not move the agents she'd trained into the territories outside of the alienage controlled by carta and Mabari dog-lords or other crime lords, but her people were ubiquitously _there_ , everywhere, fierce and loyal and listening. Rumrs had it that a number of people who had been a threat to the alienage had been quietly gotten rid of by one of her ninjas, but of course those were only rumors.

Third Hex was run by a harried and nervous-looking young man, Lierran, who had been foisted with his position when his previous Keeper had died shortly after Merrill had come to live in the alienage, and no-one else had come forward with any desire or training to keep the place running. Despite his nervous demeanor, he was a capable administrator, and he managed to keep the denizens of his hex alive and in good health (at least, as good as any _could_ be in the alienage). His hex was known around the alienage for their skilled masons who worked earnestly and with sincerity to try to keep the ancient stone structures of the alienage from collapsing in with age. It was often work that went unpaid as no-one had the means to do so in the alienage, but they did it anyway, for they knew that a collapse somewhere would be bad for everyone. Overpopulation was always a big concern in the Alienage, and the loss of even one housing unit due to collapse would put pressure on all of the rest of the hexes to find space for the homeless.

The Keeper of Fourth Hex was the serene and ever-smiling Sunahana. She had a face as serene and compassionate as a statue of Mythal in her smiling Loving Mother aspect. She should have reminded Merrill of Keeper Marethari, but there was just something lurking under that beatific smile, something _scary_. She was the alienage Matchmaker; the woman who arranged all the marriages between the elves of Kirkwall and the elves of the other alienages in other cities. Arranged marriages were the norm among the city elves, Merrill had discovered, but they were an occasion of joy. Even though the two prospective mates didn't know each other, their marriages always meant trade and renewed contact among the People. It was an affirmation that they were still one people.

Fifth Hex was run by a surprisingly _young_ woman. She was even younger than Merrill herself, being barely past childhood. Keeper Moria was a prodigy and a determined one at that. Her mother had served in the household of a noblewoman, and thus Moria had had some access to education at a young age, her drive and intelligence had made her take advantage of what few advantages she had and she had very quickly outstripped her peers and even the other adults around her. Her intelligence and feisty spirit had been recognized early on by her Keeper who took her as her First. Keeper Telsa's recent passing was still mourned, but the new Keeper Moria looked like she was not afraid of the challenges of her new position. Merrill wished she had _half_ her courage. Fifth hex produced all of the textiles in the alienage, at least when wool, flax and cotton fibers were available at prices the elves could afford, that was. The looms had been silent for some time as there had been no new fibers available for purchase by any of the merchants willing to sell to elves at a price they might afford.

Sixth Hex was run by perhaps one of the most beautiful men that Merrill had ever seen. His noble, aristocratic looks were enough to put even Velerian Inisfelin to shame. His family had been the Keepers of sixth Hex since the very founding of the alienage, in fact it was widely rumored that Asuya Aluetheli was actually descended from one of the rebel-slaves who had freed Kirkwall many Ages ago. His wife Isana was a serene and comforting presence by his side, for Asuya did nothing to curb the perception that he was cold, distant an saturnine. Still, he was very capable as a leader but Merrill, and just about everyone else, found him utterly unapproachable.

Seventh Hex was where most of the fishermen came from and was located at the edge of the alienages sole outlet to the sea. That outlet was little more than a tidal pool that flooded when the tide came in, and it was choked with seaweed and other trash that flowed from up the coast, but the small, old and barely sea-worthy fishing vessels could still manuver out on the tide if they were careful. Unfortunately, most of the "owners" of those vessels had wound up in situations that required them to tithe their catches to wealthier (Shemlen) fishermen in the area. Seventh hex was run by a man named Tetsu, who was tall for an elf, almost as tall as a human, with broad shoulders made strong from the work of a fisherman, he was jovial and affable but had a bit of a chip on his shoulder about the Templars and magic in general due to a cousin of his being taken to the Kirkwall Circle and never allowed to get in touch with his family again.

The Keeper of Eighth Hex was a chipper, cheerful man who seemed to enjoy nothing more than a good drink and a woman to flirt with. His arranged marriage to a stern, prudish elven woman from the alienage in Wycome, and the subsequent notorious and public display of flirtation he made with his overly-proper wife was the subject of much amusement. Glassworks were what Eighth Hex produced, for there was no shortage of sand to be had... however, fuel for the furnaces was another matter, they often had a hard time finding fuel enough to make the glass forges burn hot enough to produce their product.

Ninth Hex was run by another handsome young man, Sulhan, who was quite single but too studious and devoted to his duties to his people to engage in any notorious skirt chasing. the inhabitants of his hex specialized in book-copying, as well as carpentry ( which in the poverty-ridden alienage meant they were all repairers of second or third or fourth hand furniture) and the occasional copper-smith when the relatively cheap (but still expensive for the elves) metal could be got. He had been over the moon when Merrill had presented him with a signed copy of the Hard in Hightown compilation from Varric.

Tenth Hex did its best to try to handle sanitation. It was sensible, seeing as they were located right next to the bog of eternal stench that Merrill had been investigating. It was run by a paired brother and sister team of Keepers. The elder was the brother Risan, short and slight, with an almost childish cast to his feature; his apparent immaturity however was balanced out by and almost overly- studious, hardworking and very by-the-book personality that didn't like much in the way of slacking off or not fulfilling ones responsibilities. The younger sibling was a buxom and seemingly careless young woman named Rinu, who, though she never seemed to want to do any work, actually put a great deal of effort into helping others. She was a very avid gardener, as were many of her denizens, she was also a very avid drinker and brewer of booze. It was rumored that the keeper of third hex and of ninth hex were in competition for her favor, but that was likely just gossip.

Eleventh hex... if the alienage was a slum, eleventh hex was the slum _within_ a slum. That was where all the brawlers and troublemakers wound up. Eleventh Hex was always led by the strongest and toughest fighter of them all, the only one who could keep the rest of them in line, and Keeper Kennin would probably have given even the Champion of Kirkwall a run for his money in terms of prowess and sheer intimidating power. He was, in a word, _scary_. He was also not very interested in matters beyond his Hex... or to put it even more simply, he cared for nothing beyond his next drink or his next good fight. Eleventh Hex was home to the almost inevitable fighting pit, and everyone in that hex made it thier pasttime to brawl with one another in or out of the pit on the least provocation... or even if they were bored.

As for Twelfth Hex... Keeper Yarune was sickly, but well-respected. Twelfth hex was known for nothing in particular. They did little of this and a little of that, and managed to get by alright. Strangely though, theirs was the only hex that had anything that remotely resembled a bath-house, it was a steambath where people could scrub themselves off, and the denizens of that hex were territorial of their soap.

To see these well-known and well-respected members of the Kirkwall elven community assembled at her house, sitting round her table in her little hovel, looked to Merrill as unexpected a surprise as those times when she'd turned a corner and discovered she had somehow wound up in the Vicounts gardens by mistake. They looked a little like some Great Council of elven nobles from a tale about the Elves of old. The power and confidence that radiated from them was like looking at a Keepers Council during an Arlathvenn when all of the Dalish gathered.

' _Isn't that essentially what this is though_?' Merrill thought to herself.

Being Dalish, she tended to think of each little Hex as being its own clan, though it was clear that they all worked together and had more cooperation between each other than the Clans of the Dalish did. (Merrill was coming to suspect that half of the Clans actively disliked the other half). She didn't know of anything that might come up that would warrant another sort of Elder Council being called down on her. She hadn't done anything... _yet_.

"Hello, Merrill, formerly First of Sabrae Clan," the Keeper of First Hex greeted her with the unconscious gravity of all of his weighty authority surrounding him.

Merrill half wished to apologize for something, but she wasn't quite certain what. Breathing perhaps. Or even entertaining the notion that she'd just up and do as she liked, making her own clinic without consulting anyone. He seemed so authoritative that she couldn't help but feel she was in some kind of trouble even though she knew she hadn't done anything wrong.

"You needn't look nervous," he added, clearly seeing her expression of hesitance. "We're not here to frighten you, child."

There was a _full_ Keepers Council in _her_ house and she hadn't even offered any tea or hospitality!

_'What my Keeper would think of me!_ ' Merrill thought in immediate chagrin.

"Creators on a halla!" Merrill exclaimed in dismay, rushing right over to her firepit to put the kettle on. She then realized, to her dismay, that she had no water in the pot and had not visited the well that day, so she hurriedly cast an ice spell to summon enough snow to melt for tea. Then in a flustered panic, she ran over to her tea and spice cupboard.

"Where is that Antivan spice blend?!" Merrill muttered to herself half-panicked as she rummaged among her tiny tins of tea matte.

It was her nicest blend, and with guests like these...!

"Ooooh! I just cleaned up this place a while ago, I swear!"

Merrill looked around her and realized the state of her little house. It was shameful! Her dishes were unwashed and her floors hadn't been swept in a week, there were books piled up everywhere... and that glassed-over black spot from the tennshii ritual was still right in the middle of the room.

"Calm down calm down," the jovial young Keeper of Eighth Hex said to her, making a disarming gesture to calm her nerves. "We're all friends here."

Merrill looked back over her shoulder at him while the tea warmed up only to find that he was looking leeringly at her backside. His reputation as a flirt then, at least, had some truth to it.

"And were I not a married man, let me say what a delight it woul be to be friendly wih such a lovely young woman. Bus alas," he mock sighed. "I would have no tales of my devious flirtations getting home to my adoring flower. My exquisite, my lovely Hana!"

"Kicked you out of your house again did she?" the Matchmaker said dryly. "I've told you before to cool off your public displays of ardor with her, they only make her angry with you."

"She's so fun when she gets all embarrassed and blushing," he said grinning boyishly.

It was very clear that Keeper Shunsui of Eighth Hex liked little more than to put his overly formal wife's tail in a twist by being as verbosely and publicly affectionate as possible. Her set-downs were a source of amusement for everyone, but it seemed that Shunsui liked the rough treatment, or at least like to see her embarrassed blush for he unabashedly kept at it. The more proper she was, the more wildly inappropriate his behavior became.

"What was I thinking when I matched you two?" the matchmaker replied with a fond eye-roll.

"My lovely, my precious, my beautiful Hana!" he said dramatically. "She is the sun and the earth to me--"

Merrill refrained from reprimanding him for blasphemy against the true Elven Gods.

"Now now, settle in there, you lot," the Keeper of Seventh Hex said, examining the meagre selection of biscuits Merrill managed to round up to feed to her guests.

Merrill, had at last gotten the water to boil, discovering in the process that her next problem was that did not own a teapot large enough to give tea to twelve people. She was forced to improvise by putting the herbs in a bundle of cheesecloth to steep directly in the brewing pot. Trying to be a good hostess, she laid out the last sad remains of the biscuits she'd bought earlier that week to enjoy, and tried desperately to find enough cups (or something that would work for cups) in her house to give some tea to all of her guests. There were only four cups. She resorted to using bowls to fill in the numbers.

Thier reactions to the tea varied. The "Keeper" (if one could call the lead thug in a community of thugs a Keeper) looked thoroughly bored with the offering and went back to his bottle of rot-gut alcohol. The Keepers of First, Third, Fourth and Ninth all sipped their tea politely. Sixth looked coolly offended at being offered such weak provender served to him in _entirely_ the wrong dish and wouldn't touch it. If a sad little tea-bowl could hang its head in shame, his would cone so at the arched brow that was Asuyas only reply to the utterly inadequate offering. Fifth Hex Keeper drank hers down to very clear enjoyment and held out her cup for more when she was done.

"I've questions for you," Keeper Soilana said, pinning Merrill with a fierce stare.

Merrill tried not to flinch back, for the woman was utterly intimidating and rather looked like a tigress about to pounce rather than a woman who wanted information. Even the oblivious Merrill knew of the Keeper of Second Hex's reputation for ferocity and of the denizens of her Hex's propensity for spying and covert fighting prowess. They were deadly assassins all of them, or so the rumors went, and Merrill didn't want to be assassinated in her sleep.

"You are a mage and there's no question of that," the Keeper said baldly. "My investigations have shown that you are one of no little talent, and that you have the greatest degree of training of any mage this Alienage has had as one of our own in many years. You could be useful to us."

The other Keepers looked with varying degrees of exasperation at the Keeper of Second Hex, except for the Keeper of Eleventh who was draining his booze. Merrill, however, brightened with cheer.

"I'd like to be useful," she chirped honestly. "I've only just been exiled from my Clan due to... well, it's complicated and unexpectedly political, which is unusual among the Dalish. Anyway. I can't go back, but if you'll have me, I'd gladly serve the elves here in Kirkwall. I have a lot of things I think might be useful, and I'm working hard to learn more everyday."

"Oh my!" the matchmaker-Keeper of Fourth Hex said with her trademark beatific smile. "Aren't you a treasure?"

Keeper Rinu from Tenth, a surprisingly well-endowed (though not as well endowed as isabella) came sneaking up behind Merrill and suddenly squeezed her close. Merrill was plunged face first into her strangely ample cleavage.

"Isn't she adorable?" Rinu cuddled her harder and Merrill found she couldn't breathe. "Brother, I want to eat her up!"

"Leave her be," he older brother reprimanded in the bored tones of one who put up with his younger sister's shenanigans on a daily basis. "And let her up for some air while you're at it."

Rinu released her and then pinched both of her cheeks, and with a saucy wink sauntered back to the table. The Keeper of Eleventh didn't notice as he seemed to be preoccupied with finding the bottom of his drink. Sixth Hex Keeper Asuya seemed to wonder how his exquisite self had gotten mixed in with all of these plebeians and crazies.

"I want tea!" the Keeper of Fifth childishly sang out. "I want honey in it."

"You just had your tea," Fourth Hex Keeper said, slightly chidingly like a fussy mother.

"I want moooore!"

It looked like it was going to devolve into a squabble over the honey crystals Merrill saved for her guests when the Keeper of First Hex, also called the Keeper-General, _harrumphed_ loudly into the room and thumped his sturdy walking cane on the floor once, calling for silence. He got it.

"You seem to have a plan of your own in mind, Former First of Sabrae Clan, to judge from the looks of that map of the Alienage you have on the wall," the Keeper-General said.

He pointed to where Merrill had indeed been sketching out a map of the work she was going to have to do to get a proper sewage system up and running, as well as the possible space she might need to create to get that clinic she wanted. There were notations all over it of the space she needed to clear and the spells she needed to work out if things were going to go the way she wanted them to. Merrill blushed a bit a how presumptuous it must have made her look to run around making plans without asking anyone. She suddenly felt terrified she might have offended them.

"I-I didn't mean to presume!" she protested hurriedly. "I meant no offense, I just wanted-- I mean... I'll take it down."

"Sit," the icy, sepulchral and dignified tones of the Sixth Hex Keeper Asuya commanded her.

Merrill sat.

"Though we can't read the writing of the elves like you can," Keeper Lierran said. "I can get a general sense of things from you drawings, and I... I thin it might work, but it'll take a lot of work. All of us, working together. The clinic itsef would be easy enough, but the sanitation system..."

Here he exchanged a glance with Risan and Rinu.

"Would take more that just one Hex... however..."

He pulled out a large, rolled up drawing of the whole alienage marked with lines and passageways, and some sort of strange boxes on the cliffs bordering the entirety of one edge of the alieange.

"There's currently a great deal of room for improvement, and your clinic would give us all an excuse to make them."

"There's still a long way to go and a good deal of work to be done before I'm even remotely ready," Merrill said, fidgeting her hands together. "The sewage, to start with would take not only repairs to the actual lines, but purification sinks, pumps for the low areas, as well as the spells I would have to work out for the purification itself."

She held up her book on sanitation, still flustered.

"I've also got a lot of research before me too, and I work with Anders in the clinic and--" she caught herself. "I'm babbling, I'll stop."

Many of the Keepers looked amused, even the usually cold and unapproachable Asuya of Sixth, looked somewhat bemused by her in a distant, saturnine sort of way.

"It's been centuries since a trained mage has come to serve our people," Old Yama of First Hex said with a great, heavy, dignified aura about him as he paced slowly before her fire. "But we Keepers have passed down the knowledge that long ago, elven magics once helped make this place quite livable. Our ancestors, who hewed our Alienage from the living rock itself, had built it with the ancient traditions of our people's inter-conectivity with magic in mind. With your help, we may restore our Alienage to the haven it was always meant to be."

"Me? I can help?" Merrill asked, feeling delighted and almost unbelieving of her good luck.

They weren't angry! In fact they even wanted her to help them! She wasn't going to have to go around to every Keeper in all the hexes and wheedle and cajole them into letting her work her spells to help them all!

"It's best for now that you study and learn and do your work carefully. Our needs have waited for a long time, and they will wait a while longer. Just know that when you are ready, the Keepers and elves of this alienage will do all we can to help you, if in return, you will honor us with your service."

"And... you all won't object?" Merrill asked a little uncertainly.

She well knew the attitude toward magic and mages within Kirkwall, and that might go doubly for the Elves, who had a second-class status.

"To quote Andraste Herself," the beatifically smiling Matchmaker said serenely. "Magic was meant to serve mankind, and not to rule over him."

"Then," Merrill said with a formal bow. "I'm happy to serve!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any resemblance that these Keepers might have to any Captains of Shinigami Divisions in the First Season of Bleach is... well... Okay maybe not so much a coincidence.  
> And as for Second Hex... Yeah. They're ninjas. No lame narutard ninjas either, but cool covert operative, will kill you in your seep and you'll never see them coming ninjas.


	37. Chapter 37

Fenris toweled himself off and exchanged a look of mutual respect with Knight-Captain Cullen. The last several weeks had slipped by like rosary beads in the hands of a particularly fervent Chantry Sister, and after a great deal of practice and study, he had made a breakthrough that enabled him to utilize the templar skill of negating magic using his lyrium brands. Fenris now sent most of his days ferrying over to the Templar training courtyard in the Gallows, refining his technique with single-minded tenacity.

 _:Strange, this skill,:_ he mused to himself as he looked over the lyrium brands running through the flesh of his arms. _:Instead of attuning more strongly with the Fade, allowing me to phase through objects, it is almost as though I do the opposite, that I affirm my own separateness from the fade, strengthening my own sense of reality and my place in the material world._ :

It was a change, but so far as he could tell, it had granted him a buffering aura against magical attack, and so far, any attempt at mind control had failed. He could only hope that it would serve against a magister of Danarius' power on the day that he would come to collect him. He'd also made some light connections with the other Templars in the order. He wasn't invited to join in on thier camaraderie of course, Templars were very insular by nature and not generally inclined to mingle with outsiders, but they had at least recognized in him; n his attitude toward magic and his recounted tales of horror from his time in Tevinter, at least a man who was a kindred spirit.

Hawke, as was his custom, was flitting here and there about Kirkwall and the surrounding environs (dragging chosen members of his own inner circle along with him for the ride), coming to the aid of people and fulfilling their every senseless, pointless wish. 'Go get my mothers necklace from the lair of a dragon, go to every Maker-forsaken corner of the city collecting every last knicknack I've lost over the years, and would you be an absolute champ and trek out to the forgotten wastelands and bring me back some flowers, not just any flowers, a particular kind of flower, thanks.' On his more recent journeys accompanying the Champion, Fenris had seen more spiders, undead, blood mages, slavers and drug smugglers than in all the time he had been on the run it seemed.

 _'For all this work, they'd better appoint him the next vicoun_ t!' Fenris thought to himself.

He felt privately that Kirkwall could certainly do a lot worse. Hawke was a fine warrior, he cared about people and wanted to keep them safe, if he was a little too trusting of mages and magic, that could be overlooked as a sign of his being generally open-minded rather than an egregious character flaw.

 _'Speaking of mages, that girl has been suspiciously quiet lately. I wonder if she's still up to something,'_ Fenris mused to himself.

There had been no word from Varric's agents about his sister still in Tevinter and Hawke had said that he was unlikely to need him for anything in the next day or so. Now was as good a time as any to check in on the simple-minded blood mage and make sure she wasn't conjuring any demons. Their link was fairly quiet but that only meant that whatever she was up to, she did not feel emotions that were strong enough to stir thier latent bond into wakefulness. He was aware of her, just as he was aware of the fact that he breathed. Her quiet presence in the back of his mind hadn't faded any... but it likewise hadn't gotten any worse. Her mind had been occupied, and Fenris for a sense of purposeful hurrying, but not one of any great urgency.

_:Best go and have a look for myself. I can't trust that abomination who is her teacher to keep a proper eye on her. He might be able to tell a demon from a hole in the ground, but there's no telling what that Spirit he's melded with will put them both through if no-one keeps watch.:_

He caught the ferry from the Gallows back to the city proper, once more passing under the statues of slaves in chains. Once on the docks, he made his way through the twisting, dusty streets of the ciy's poorer section and walked under the reinforced iron gate into the Kirkwall Alienage. Once there he stopped and stared a bit in surprise and puzzlement at the sight that met his eyes.

He had been to the Alienage from time to time, exclusively in Hawke's company to seek out the human rougue's pet blood mage. He'd never had any desire to go running around in it, for evidence of its slave-pen/mining pit past were everywhere to Fenris' experienced ex-slave's eyes. The so-called "buildings" were little more than cavelets that had been hollowed out into the cliffs by their quarrying slave-ancestors, and then, gradually over time, carved further into a warren of individual courtyards surrounded by carved-out cave-houses. Many of the structures looked unsafe to him. It was bare rock walls, with detritus and cast-off junk stacked in every corner, all of it dirty and depressing. He wondered how the Alienage elves could stand it. Then he remembered that _he_ hadn't cleaned out any of the rest of the place he was living in to make it remotely habitable and reminded himself that he shouldn't throw stones.

 _'What is going on here?'_ he though in puzzlement and no small feeling of dismay.

When he crossed the iron-reinforced gate that was closed by the city guards every night to keep the elves in their slum where they belonged, he didn't meet the usual sight of one or two elves walking aimlessly about the courtyard because they were unemployed and couldn't find work, or a few hungry children playing listlessly beneath the tree in their courtyard. Instead what met his eyes was a strange hive of inexplicable activity.

There were elves popping out of every nook and crevice he looked he looked at. They all hurried purposefully to and fro, working on tasks together. There was a group directly in front of him that were using balls of twine and weighted pendulums and small troughs of water. They appeared to be measuring something... or rather, everything. There were elves suspended from ropes on the sides of the cliff buildings that were making chalk notches and small diagrams on the faces of the walls. There were elves digging away at piles of rubble that he could swear hadn't been there the last time he'd visited. There were elves hauling off piles of junk. Fenris watched as a team of elves with picks and shovels attacked the stone wall to a nearby building, while another few elves hauled away dirt and gravel, and another team counted off paces and did things with more measuring string, marking places with lines and notations that Fenris didn't understand. There was activity everywhere, and he had the sinking feeling that this First Hex was not the extent of matters.

 _'Maker on a mule, what's that girl up to now, and what has she done to get them all to agree to help her?_ ' Fenris thought with a feeling of foreboding.

He turned the corner that would take him to her hovel outside the collapsed rubble pile and stopped short. There was a small family of elves casing the place with a small pile of possessions just outside the door. The father of the family emerged from the doorway and picked up one of the sacks from the pile and went into the house, accompanied by a laughing child of four. The wife was nearby, fussing over one of the dilapidated trunks. Beside the family there was a small collective of elves scrabbling away at a pile of rubble, debating over it.

"Excuse me!" he called over to one of the workers that appeared to be sifting through the gravel, making notes and checking over some kind diagram. "Where is the Dalish girl who is supposed to be living here?"

He knew she was okay simply because he would have known through their sleeping link if it were otherwise. That did not answer his puzzlement as to why she was not where she was supposed to be and where her house had gone.

"She's working in the clinic like she always is this time of day," the elf replied, turning back to his work.

 _'Of course. I should have guessed,'_ he thought with a headshake.

"If you see her, tell her that it's leveled out and the material's waiting for her," the elf said cryptically.

Fenris shot the elf a glare for presuming to make a messenger boy of him and walked off toward Darktown. Upon his arrival at the clinic, it was its usual hive of activity. There were sick and injured as well as unwashed urchins hanging about the main corridor and Fenris' markings giggled in resonance with the feeling of Healing magic being worked nearby. It was stronger this time, somehow.

 _:Stronger can only mean one of two things,:_ Fenris thought with a sinking feeling. _:Either the abomination is working a stronger Healing spell than normal, or he has taugh the little fool how to contact demons to help her heal.:_

It was hard to describe what it felt like when Anders used his Spirit Healing and not just regular Healing magic that he pulled from the Fade. Even as cynical as he was, Fenris could not deny that there was a vast difference in the way a Blessing Spirit felt from the way that a demon felt to his lyrium markings. Blessing Spirits were more of a pure note, uncorrupted, whereas demons sounded flat and sour. The feeling of tainted wrongness was like an itch on his skin, but blessings were soothing somehow.

 _:There's two of them,_ : he knew instinctively after standing still a moment to test the resonance of magic on his markings. _:Maker! He's taught her how to call Spirits!:_

His mood suddenly plunged toward exasperation. That fool of a mage taught the other fool of a mage how to bring forth magic from a Spirit; she, who could not tell a demon from a hole in the ground! Nothing good would come of this.

He barged into the backroom, ready to bring her to task for her foolishness but was prevented from doing so by a sharp look from her teacher, who was hovering over her shoulder like a nervous mother hen. Merrill's Healing magic, before this a gentle mist of blue-green, glowed _powerfully_ now. Strangely, the additional power did not lessen her deft control of it in the least.

 _:Of course not,:_ Fenris acknowledged begrudgingly to himself, even as he stared on in disapproval. : _The foolish chit was a blood mage before taking up Healing. I know from personal observation that the blood magic avails a mage of a great deal of sheer raw power all at once. Thus, handling advanced power deftly is nothing new to her_.:

Fenris scowled disapprovingly at her teacher, in reply Anders silently shrugged but looked very proud of her skill. She had three patients lined up before her, with a small amount of healing mist in two, and the bulk of her concentration being focused on the one before her. Once she had finished with him, she moved on to the next as seamlessly and effortlessly as though she were simply turning a page in a book.

"I never thought I'd hear myself say this," Anders said as he moved over to join Fenris in his observation of his "apprentice" (who seemed to be swiftly catching up to her teacher). "But it seems like her study and practice of blood magic has yielded unexpected results. She doesn't tire out at all from what I can tell and she can handle channeling power from even greater Spirits than I usually call upon without even batting an eye."

"You've taught her this magic too quickly," Fenris said, stiff with disapproval. "She does not have the best track record with being able to tell a Spirit from a demon."

"I can't necessarily say it's impossible, but in the case of Spirit Healing, the task is so focused that only certain kinds of Spirits are able to hear and answer the call."

"How is that so?" Fenris asked skeptically.

"Think of it like those special dog whistles they use in Fereldan," Anders explained. "You and I cannot hear them, but a dog will hear it quite plainly. It's the same with Healing magic. An inimical Spirit will not be able to hear the call, but a Spirit that is bent toward service and helpfulness will. I don't think we've anything to worry about. Oh... did you hear about what the Alienage plans for her?"

: _That's an unusual way to put it..._ : Fenris thought.

"No," he said. "I was there earlier today however, what are they all up to?"

Anders sighed a bit, looking a little sad.

"Merrill is elven, and wishes to serve her people, as always. The elves of the Alienage want and need a Healer of their own, plus... it looks like she wants to try out some of the old magic of her people, the sort that the Dalish cannot use because they are always moving around. Something that will help the elves that live in the Alienage live better lives."

"Is it safe?" Fenris asked worriedly.

"Is fire safe?" he asked rhetorically. "Only under certain conditions. I've looked over her work carefully, and alien as it is to me, I can tell she's taken every precaution to make it as safe as possible."

Fenris moved to protest that if it was not safe she should not be allowed to do it at all, but Anders continued.

"I can't bring myself to tell her that she should not work her very hardest for an oppressed people that have nothing; that she should not try to improve their lives and make them happier and healthier."

"Is this not still a little premature? She has not been studying with you for very long," Fenris said dubiously.

"I can't say that the rapid pace with which she soaks of knowledge like some scary magical sponge doesn't both worry me and make me feel jealous, but Merrill's a fast learner," Anders said. "Spirit Healing is the last thing I really had to teach her as a Healer. She's read all the books I've had to give her, and the essays she's written show a firm grasp of the concepts. She knows how the bodies of all the races are put together and her skill at diagnosis is not lacking. I've seen worse Healers than she is already out in remote villages, and she'll only improve with time and practice. A teacher teaches what he can and hopes that his student makes good use of it. It's clear she wants to serve, how can I prevent her? You know how stubborn she is. The best thing for her, and for everyone really, is that she be allowed to work in an environment that will both challenge and nurture her talent, but with proper oversight."

"Isn't that how she got a demon in her shadow in the first place?" Fenris said flatly, referring to her Keeper's inability to rein in Merrill's enthusiasm with common sense.

"Well you've been spending time with the Templars," Anders said disapprovingly. "You could keep an eye on her if you're so bloody worried."

Feris gave the abomination a dirty look for his flippancy and left the clinic. He went back to the Alienage to investigate further. Everywhere he looked he saw elves working industriously at something, like they were ants whose hill had been kicked over and they were now planning on rebuilding the colony. Each large knot of workers was clearly being overseen by a one of their fellow elves, and it was different for each hex he went to. There was nothing that specifically marked them out as being in charge, but Fenris could tell they were all the same, there was an aura of power and authority about them; even the ones that didn't look like they should be in charge of anything, like that child in the fifth hex he came across.

 _:This is... an awful lot of people and an awful lot of work for just one little magelet to be behind, no matter how big she tends to dream. It's almost like..._ : he didn't finish the thought, deciding to reserve judgement in the absence of information.

The largest knot of industry was taking place at a cliff-face that walled in one side of the Alienage from the lands beyond it with a gradual slope and a view of the sea past the harbor. As Fenris looked more closely at the cliff-face it became apparent to him that the gradation was not an accident of nature, but was by design. The slope went up the side of the cliff in obvious steps, terraces carved into the rock face. On every level of those steps groups of elves were digging with shovels like they were excavating some ancient ruin; there was even a crude elevator-pulley rigged up to carry the dirt and gravel from the very top-most steps down to the bottom. He noticed another large collective of elves working on a series of fetid, sludgy puddles farther in.

As he followed the trickle of a river that connected the ponds through the Alienage he came to the fetid, marshy, muck-pit that looked like it was currently being dredged. There was a pile of broken, half-rotted muck-covered detritus off to one side that had clearly been pulled out of the mud pits. They were all also excavating passages underground that ran beneath the Alienage that had been allowed to fill with muck, trash and other debris over the centuries that they had been ignored.

: _I do not get the feeling that these elves are really building anything anew. It feels more like they are working to either rebuild something that already existed... or was designed to exist and never di_ d.:

There was simply too much orderliness and too little arguing over matters for it to be anything but that, at least in Fenris' mind that was so. Generally, when a large group of people who were customarily divided into smaller groups wanted to get a large over-arching project done, they bickered and squabbled for _years_ over the details, each wanting the best improvements the soonest, each wanting a little more power and prestige for their own group. The politics of such a thing were always universal. But these elves in this Alienage were all working toward a sudden common goal like pieces of a well-oiled dwarven machine. That told him that they'd had such plans all along.

 _:The foolish little mage has found herself in yet another situation in which she is being sought out to be used for advantage,:_ Fenris thought with a headshake.

He knew perfectly well that she'd probably volunteered for it. Eagerly at that. The foolish little chit was so earnest in her desire to help and serve her people that it never occured to her simple, pure-hearted way of thinking that maybe others were not just as desirous of serving others as she herself was. There was always someone who was all too happy to work a willing horse to death if it benefited them.

 _:And she **will** work herself to death for them,:_ Fenris thought with a feeling of foreboding.

The situation would probably bear watching, but if it was keeping her busy and out of trouble he was willing to not interfere for the time being. He frowned, feeling a prickling feeling on the back of his neck that told him he was being watched. His fugitive instincts had him ducked around a crowd of elves, looking back over his shoulder to see a lithe, fierce-looking young woman and a small band of equally fierce-looking elves accompanying her watching him interestedly. He narrowed his eyes at her and she narrowed hers back. Having made certain that Fenris knew that she was watching him, the fierce elven woman turned back to whatever business she'd had before.

 _:It seems as though I am not to be welcomed right away into whatever these elves are planning on doing with the witch,_ : he thought, suspiciously as he continued to observe. :P _erhaps that is for the better. Those who seek to manipulate others to their own ends would naturally be selective of those they invite to share thier hard-won power. It certainly bears watching.:_


	38. Chapter 38

It had been months since she'd stepped across the threshold into the Alienage with the knowledge that there would be no going back to her people. She'd been working hard and keeping very busy, but... sometimes, she just wanted to go home. She wanted to go back to the wood that was alive and breathing beneath her feet and not dead stone and cold iron all around her. She wanted to rest her head on her Keepers lap and hear her low voice sing an ancient elvhen lullaby. She wanted the creaking of the aravells at night and the smell of a campfire. Part of this she knew was the simple yet difficult passing away of childhood into the responsibilities and work of adulthood, the exchange of shelter and security for freedom and duty. She got homesick, but it was always a consolation to have something that needed doing, a work that she was absolutely vital for.

_:The Keepers are all being so very good to me, and so helpful too!_ : Merrill mused to herself optimistically, still amazed and caught off-guard by how much they were willing to help her.

When she had spoken of the clinic she wanted to turn her little house into, the builders of Third Hex, with their nervous but very diligent young Keeper, had taken her few sketches and the ideas she'd had for it and had come back a day later with a full scale-model for an Alienage clinic that was even grander than anything she would have dreamed up for herself.

_:It's so big that they plan on moving my right out of my little house in First Hex and building it over-top some old rubble in that abandoned area I think used to be a Hex at one point_ ,: she thought, dreamily conjuring up in her mind the image of the new clinic they planned on making for her to work in.

The building they'd designed for her was big enough to hold all of her clan comfortably and still have room for many more, and Merrill could not honestly imagine calling such a place hers. She'd been reluctant at first to take on such a large place with inherently large responsibilities, but the Keepers had convinced her that of _course_ it had to be large enough to serve the whole Alienage. It was going to be two and a half stories, with the first floor devoted to beds and examination tables for the sick and injured just like in Anders' clinic only on a larger scale. The second story would be devoted to storage closets for equipment, a still for making new medicines, and a proper operating room for a chirurgeon. The rooftop would be divided; half for a second story rooftop garden where she could grow the herbs she needed right on hand, and the other half with a third story built up on it for her own personal living quarters!

When she had spoken about her thoughts for a real working sewage system for the Alienage, and for a place where she could purify drinking water, three of the Keepers and their Firsts eagerly volunteered to show her some ancient catacomb under the Alienage that was currently being used for storage (and as a secret bolt hole to hide the women and children in just in case the current leader of the shem called a Purge) that might coincidentally serve the purpose she was looking for very well with a little work and a few spells to get it functioning right.

When Merrill mentioned that the open sewer they were using could be cleaned out, and with the right handling it might make a place to grow food in, the very next day she was shown to a terraced cliff-face along one whole side of the Alienage that had been filled in with dirt and stone over centuries of erosion that might fill such a task... if there could be a way found to irrigate it properly once again. Strangely, the Keepers knew of a method, but it did require the use of magic, at least at first.

Merrill was beginning to wonder if it was in fact a coincidence at all, because with all of the things they'd shown her... a day or a few days later the Keeper of one hex or another (usually either Sixth Hex, Third, Ninth or Tenth Hex because they all seemed to keep the best records) would almost miraculously show up with a spell, or spell-fed process, or spell-powered machine they had found by rummaging through their old archives that would address the situation perfectly. They all urged her to keep working with her teacher and learning all she could quickly and that they would all be more than happy to take care of the little details. They would pave the way for her to do her work when the time came, they assured her, all she needed to do was concentrate on her studies and leave the rest to them.

_:It's so nice to see everyone all working together like one big happy Clan!:_ Merrill mused happily to herself. :I had no idea that the elves of the city all got along with one another so well. The Dalish could learn a thing or two about their fellow-feeling and sense of co-operation.:

* * *

"I feel a little bit bad for taking advantage of her like this..." Keeper Lirran, earnest to a fault, said.

"Oh shush," Keeper Rinu said. "I think we all do, on some level or another. But try to look at it this way... she volunteered! She _wants_ to work hard and serve the community. We're just helping her do that."

"Why don't we just tell her?" the bossy and forthright child Keeper of Fifth Hex said. "Merrill's so nice, it's not like she's going to change her mind about it."

"But it's a little difficult to come out and say it..." Keeper Shunsui said, for once not smiling jovially.

"That is true," Lierran agreed. "I think we can all agree that even if we are sort of taking advantage of her good nature--"

Here he looked pointedly at the Keeper-General, who, while a good man who worked hard at keeping relations between his people and their Shem overlords as cordial as possible, could on occasion be a bit ruthless about getting things done when he felt the situation warranted.

"We are not going to demand more of her than she is able to fulfill."

"Agreed," the Keeper-General harrumphed with dignity.

"That would be killing the golden goose after all," Second Hex Keeper pointed out a bit primly. "Where would we find another fully trained Dalish mage? They are not, according to my sources, thick upon the ground even among the Dalish Clans."

"And those blasted Templars seize every mage we produce before we can covertly find a way to get him a teacher... and they keep them in the Gallows and don't turn them out to serve where they're needed," Seventh Keeper muttered resentfully.

One of his cousins had been a mage and had been taken in and never heard from again. Rumor had it, he'd been turned Tranquil.

"There's an old gripe and lay off it," Second snapped back. "Chances are better that Elri would have been found out sooner or later, if he didn't burn down the house before then. But aye, you are right in that our Alienage has gone far too long without the services of a trained mage."

"How is her training coming along Soi?" Lierran questioned the Spy-Keeper of Second Hex.

It was well known among the Keeper's Council that she had her agents keeping an eye on their little Dalish prize at all times.

"It seems she is a very quick learner," Soilana reported. "Her teacher has had her for only three months and she's flown through the intermediate Healing course and is now being trained in Spirit Healing. After having run my investigations, it turns out that Spirit Healing is very difficult to master, and it seems she's already well on her way. By the time we're ready for her, she'll be ready to take up the staff here."

"And our progress on the repairs?" The Keeper-General, Old Yama asked looking toward the Keeper of Third.

"The terraces are being cleared from the top down. I know the high terraces require the use of a system we don't currently have in place, but it only makes sense to do it this way," he said, fiddling a bit with his precious diagrams. "Even if we can't use them right away, it would be more work and difficulty later to try to work the rubble down through the bottom fields once thet're already being used than it would be just to take care of it all in one fell swoop. No deaths and only minor injuries on the excavation so far. The sewage line outlet from hightown that deposited all of their waste into the sinkhole has been unclogged of all of their trash. Excavations on the old cleansing vats is coming along but you'd have to ask Tenth about it."

"What of the restoration of what was once Thirteenth Hex?" Old Yama asked.

The Keeper of Third looked hesitant.

"I'm... not sure," he said. "I've had a look-in on the stone that the rubble of those old collapsed buildings were made of. I can say they were abandoned for a reason. The stone there is weak, and not suited to being hollowed out like the rest of the ancient quarry that our ancestors have built our Alienage in to. I think it's a better idea we get rid of the ruins and open the area up as our ancestors had once intended. I stand by my suggestion that we build the clinic there instead of trying to hollow out the weak stone along the sides for more homes like they did a few generations ago. It'll just collapse again and more lives will be lost like in the Great Collapse of 8:15 Steel."

"Very well," the Keeper-General nodded sagely. "We shall restore Thirteenth Hex as the Gardens that existed before the Storm Age. Better to watch our numbers rather than deprive the community by trying to make room for more. I am sure our Dalish will not mind being made Keeper of her own Hex, we'll assign a capable First to run it for her while she concentrates on other matters."

"High-handed much?" demanded the Keeper of Fifth. "And what about the magic water-silk my people need? We have all the ingredients collected for it, but it cannot be made without the work of a mage."

"Lower on the list," the Keeper-General said firmly. "We must get her settled in first. Now, how are the lakes for Thirteenth coming along? Tenth, I believe you were put in charge."

Tenth Hex was put in charge of sanitation in the Alienage but over the centuries thier cleansing vats and the sewage system had been filled in or turned to other purposes as they had no way to use it and the upkeep of a useless relic was abandoned after a time. They instead had turned the former garden-lakes of the abandoned former hex into open cesspits to dump their trash and waste into. Tenth Hex was working with the architects and mason of Third Hex to excavate their disused, ancient cleansing sewage vats beneath their Hex and now had the task of dredging out the old cesspits and digging them out to restore the ancient water pools that had once been placed there long ago.

"Even calling them ponds at this point would be a little generous," Risan replied. "They've been mud puddles for decades and they don't just turn back into lakes overnight."

"Tha tgreat stinking sinkhole in the middle has been partially dredged, but we've no place to putthe waste we've removed for the time being so that it won't poison the groundwater," Rinu said with a grimace of distaste. "If Third and Ninth would finish digging out the cleansing vats, we'd have at least one purification system ready to install."

"Nevermind any of that," the Keeper interjected quickly when it looked like Ninth might bristle at the implication. "Do you have anything that might work for the time being?"

 

"I've been over those seedling's that our little Dalish has been growing and... I want some," she sighed whistfully.

"It looks like she's worked some kind of strange nature magic on them," Risan added in a businesslike manner while his sister daydreamed of lillies. "Dashed if I know how it works, she said something about natural enhancement this and magical splicing. All I know is, if you line a few murky ponds of those little "drinker lillies," in a few days it's all but cleaned up. And then there's the fish. Strange creatures, and they look so tasty! I think they do magic too."

"Dalish ways are strange..." the young Keeper of Fifth said solemnly, shaking her head.

"Anyway, we're all working to find the original stone seals on those lakes so we can have our ancient gardens back," Rinu finished cheerfully.

"Is there any indication she'll be able to find a way to create the emberstones we need for our furnaces?" the usually jocular Keeper of Eighth asked seriously. "My glass-smiths have apprentices to train and we haven't been able to keep the furnaces hot enough to make a paperweight."

"There's much else to get into place first," the Keeper-General said. "With such a powerful mage, I'm sure the emberstones will not pose a great challenge once we have everything in order."

"I have my agents combing the markets for the ingredients," the Keeper of Second said. "But as you are unfortunately well aware of, a number of those ingredients are rare and/or imported from far away, and thus... expensive."

"Only the best for my glass-smiths," the Keeper of Eight said cheerfully. "Besides, you all know that in a city this size, wood enough for heating the fires of our furnaces hot enough to melt sand is more expensive in the long run than the work of a mage to create an emberstone and maintain it with a simple spell every once in a while."

"And the baths!" chimed in tenth. "We have the plans all drawn up and we're working on the heating and flow system right now."

"As much as we would all love a bath-house, it's a lesser priority at this point," the Keeper-General said firmly. "And speaking of priorities, Keeper Tetsu, how fares the harbor and our vessels?"

"As well as ever, I suppose," the burly (for an elf) Keeper replied with a head-shake. "I don't think there's a whole lot even a mage could do there. The sad fact is, it's all _old_. Our inlet has been there for centuries, with sand and tide washing in and out every year. It's shallow now. Our boats are all one short step away from the graveyard and all but a few are owned out by the Shem who run the docks for one reason or another. You'd need a solicitor to run through all of that mess to get it sorted, and none in the Alienage are that educated or have connections with those who are."

"Hey, doesn't our Dalish know a dwarf who's in good with the Merchants guild?" Rinu asked of the room at large.

"She does, a Varricc Tethras of House Tethras, brother to Bartram of said House, ranked among the top ten most successful merchant families on the surface," Soilana replied.

"Do you know the color of his underwear?" Rinu asked mischievously.

"I fail to see the relevance of such a query," the Keeper replied coldly.

"Some spy you are," Rinu said.

Keeper Soilana narrowed her eyes at the other Keeper.

"In short," the Keeper General said, grabbing the other Keeper's flagging attentions. "Matters are proceeding swiftly and smoothly. On my end, I've had my people busy allaying suspicions from the Shem. The only ones outside the Alienage who are remotely curious about the goings on in our Alienage are the guards, but even they aren't well known for diligent patrols. The Shem in hightown are more concerned with their lack of a Viscount. There has been no talk of Purges."

The other Keepers looked relieved. It was always a concern when the elves started moving to get anything done. The Shem didn't like inexplicable industriousness from the people they were supposed to be oppressing, it tended to make the wealthy and influential feel nervous. From nervous it could quickly proceed to threatened, and that always seemed to spark talk of elves knowing their place and thence to Purges.

"We shall proceed as we have planned for the time being," The Keeper-General said briskly. "Clinic first. We'll get her settled there, then move the rest into place bit by bit."

"What about the waste from the dredged lake?" Keeper Rinu of Tenth asked. "It smells."

"I'll have one of the terraces on the lower level excavated," Keeper Lierran of Third said reassuringly. "We'll have to ask the mage to check the seal on the stone before you move it, but you can dump it in there for the time being and it won't hurt anything to have it out of the way in a sealed containment area. Who knows, if the weather cooperates enough it might dry up a bit."

"Maybe I can convince her to let me have some of those lillies," Rinu said wistfully.

"That muck's going to take more than lillies," the Keeper of Fifth replied flatly.


	39. Chapter 39

_I should have known._

Fenris scowled at his rotten luck when Hawke turned the corner at the place where he and the other Companions had agreed to meet at, and saw the cheerfully smiling face of the now-former bloodwitch. She looked just as surprised to see him as he was to see her and offered a timid, hopeful smile, which he rightly scowled at. She had been making _no_ progress in getting their unfortunate entanglement undone, and for all that he could tell seemed to be more interested in working at the clinic with the abomination and cavorting about the Alienage with the other elves. She should be devoting more time to _his_ problem!

"Sheesh Fenris!" Hawke called over by way of greeting. "We haven't been breathing the same air for more than a minute and you're already scowling. Is it your elfy time of the month again?"

Fenris transferred his scowl to its new rightful recipient and refused to dignify Hawkes dig with a verbal response.

"Why did you bring the bloodwitch?" he demanded. "You know that I detest her presence."

"Well, we've got _two_ healers now to choose from, and Anders bowed out on account of some work he's doing for that manifesto of his," Hawke replied. "Besides, worse comes to worse, Merrill here is still a powerhouse when she wants to be."

Merrill smiled shyly at the compliment, and Fenris, because he was standing only feet from her instead of half a city away, could now pick up clearly on her inner lifting-feeling at the praise she'd just received. Fenris growled to himself and a little at her, just to make certain she knew how unhappy he was with the situation... which quickly caused the good feeling inside her to shrivel up. Fenris refused to feel guilty over her change in mood.

Hawke had arranged this particular hunt to go and investigate the mining pits and clear out any dangers. A small herd of drakes, it seemed, had mistaken the mining pits for their new nest, and Hubert wanted them cleared out before they brought in their female and things got really difficult. The drakes, naturally, were not so keen on the idea of being evicted and they fought back fang and nail and whippy-tails (and flaming breath).

By the time that Hawke and Fenris had finished finally killing the majority of the lethal screechers it turned out to be a very good thing that Merrill had been training so hard in the art of healing, for they were both sorely in need of it. Fenris did not want her getting anywhere near him, or using her magic on him (for fear of making their bonding situation worse) so he stuck to healing potions. Hawke flirted shamelessly with her while she fussed over him, as was his nature, and Fenris refused to believe that the gullible little twit was actually made happy by all of the obviously fake compliments he sent her way. He was a bit envious that her magic was still superior in every way to the healing potions he was making do with, seeing as Hawke and Aveline both felt immediately worlds better after her magic did its work, while Fenris was left with a lingering soreness and bruises even after downing his potions.

"So Merrill," Aveline said a bit stiffly as they walked back along the trail to Kirkwall.

"Yes?" Merrill questioned.

"Hawke and Anders both say that you've given up your blood magic, and that you've stopped studying that..."

"Demon-mirror," Fenris supplied readily.

Merrill frowned at him for his label of her precious ancient elven artifact.

"Eluvian," she corrected properly. "And I've been training with Anders in Spirit Healing, this is true."

Hawke and Aveline shared a quick glance. Aveline seemed reluctant about something but Hawke quietly urged her on.

"Yes, about that..." Aveline said, clearly reluctant. "Anders is... he's a good person, I'm not saying he isn't, but... he seems a bit of an unusual choice for you."

"Unusual?" Merrill asked, curiously. "He's a very fine Spirit Healer. I don't think even Aeriniel of Ralaferin Can is as deft or as practiced at the art as Anders is... probably because she doesn't have half a city to work with."

"It's good that he's a fine teacher," Hawke interjected. "And I'm glad you like learning from him, but... he's... well... Isabella might have let slip something about his being a very... _adventurous_ sort of man."

"I'd hardly think so," Merrill replied wide-eyed and innocent of what Aveline was delicately ttrying to hint at. "Once he's done in the clinic for the day, all he and Justice want to do is sit down and work on that manifesto of his. Or if not that then... well I suppose smuggling mages out of the city is an adventure but-- oh dear! I wasn't supposed to mention that."

"It's alright," Aveline said with a sigh. "We all know. Everybody here knows."

"What we're trying to get at is... we know you might be feeling a little bit _alone_ here in the city now that you know you're going to be here for the, ah, foreseeable future, and we just wanted to let you know that... um, you don't need to settle in right away and, if you're feeling lonely you can come to see us."

"Oh! Well... thank you Hawke, that's very generous and-- oh look! Embrium!"

Merrill scampered off the trail to collect a few clippings. She had brought a small gathering basket and some damp cloths with her. Apparently she thought the trip was the perfect opportunity to collect cuttings of plants and the dragon-thing was only an adventure on the side rather than the focus of their mission. Fenris rolled his eyes at her antics then turned to look at Hawke and Aveline.

"Do you think we got through?" Hawke asked Aveline.

"Probably not," Aveline said. "Dense as two stones, that one."

Fenris smirked in agreement.

"Still, she doesn't seem inclined towards Anders, at least not in the romantic sense," Aveline said reassuringly. "Isabella's just going off on weird fantasies again, you know how she gets. I really don't think there's and master-and-student intimate relations going on between those two."

Fenris frowned.

"Am I to understand," he interjected. "That you think that the witch and the abomination are said to be having... _relations_?"

"Isabella intimated that working all those hours side by side might cause a certain amount of attraction to grow," Hawke said with a shrug. "And then there's the teacher and student dynamic... and she hinted that Anders had been quite the playboy in the past."

"It wasn't outside the realm of possibility that Merrill might develop an attraction for him," Aveline said a bit grimly.

Fenris sent them both an admonishing look for paying attention to any of Isabella's wild romantic and sexual speculations. She'd likely just said that as a hobby to amuse herself with, and possibly to get a reaction out of other people to further amuse herself with.

"Not possible," Fenris said shortly.

He would _know_. He could listen in on the whisper of her surface thoughts and there was nothing more there about them than some project she was working on with the elves of her community, and the latest lesson she shared with her new teacher, and how she might improve her technique the next time she Healed someone.

Hawke suddenly smirked.

"Just remember Fenris, even if you're feeling a little lonely and bereft out here in Kirkwall and you start feeling homesick, there's no reason why you need to seek out the company of that Templar," he said, slinging an arm around his shoulder pauldrons. "I know the forbidden aspect of making a man betray his vows might add a certain spice to the relationship, but we wouldn't want you to do anything that would make you unhappy in the long run."

Hawke was grinning a little evilly as the implication of his words sunk in and Fenris felt indignant and offended.

"She said what?!" he thundered.

"Now now," Aveline tried to soothe in her own gruff manner, but it somehow actually felt more like she was subtly teasing him somehow. "There's no need to listen to Isabella's wild speculations."

"But let's just say... everyone _else_ has been," Hawke replied mischievously.

Fenris already notorious temper smouldered at the mischief of that interfering female and her damnable sense of fun. It wasn't as though he went over to the Gallows _every_ day. It was only two or three times a week and that was only because he was truly getting better at interrupting the flow of magic with his lyrium markings. His lyrium markings were a subject of envy there rather than making him feel like some sort of freak. The Templars wished they had such a boon, rather than being forced to take a philter of Lyrium every other morning, lyrium that slowly ate away at them and caused a great dependency. He'd seen some of the lyrium addicts after the Templars had no further use for them... the end results were not pretty. After all, even processed lyrium was a sort of poison, and the body could only take so much poison before it started to deteriorate.

Fenris surreptitiously looked down at his own hands, covered by gauntlets and felt a pang of worry. Lyrium always eventually broke down in the blood...

 _:Surely it is nothing,_ : he told himself.

Hidden beneath the gauntlets, the blue-white intricately carved lines of lyrium that had been grafted into his skin were starting to dull a little bit. The very tips of his fingers were now a dull pewter-grey that slowly faded out to the more "natural" blue-white of the rest of his body. It was just a minor change. It didn't mean that his body was breaking down, or that the lyrium in his skin would slowly start to poison him. It certainly didn't mean that he needed to seek out his former master for answers. He was fine.

Merrill seemed to sense his own inner worry as she wandered back to rejoin him on the path and gave him a concerned inquisitive look, clearly wondering what was on his mind. Fenris scowled at her, silently telling her to mind her own damn business and his thoughts were no concern of hers.

 _:It's fine,:_ he told himself. "I'll be fine."


	40. Chapter 40

Merrill double-checked the guiding sigils she had scratched into the dirt and looked again over the miniature scale-model of the clinic that third hex had planned for her.

 _:It's ambitious, and I'm pretty sure no-one in the Alienage has used this type of magic before, but... need's must I suppose,:_ Merrill thought to herself.

The Keepers of the Dalish used "conjoined magic" only on very very rare occasions, and on those occasions it was usually several Keepers working in tandem rather than trying to inter-weave pre-written spells with a single mage as the main conductor. Conjoined magic was powerful, but all the more risky for it. It relied on everyone doing thier part exactly right in order for the result to be achieved. In this case, the result was going to be a "stone-shaping" moving a lot of inert rocky materiel so that it shaped into the exact parameters of the shell of the new clinic.

Typically, even since ancient times, it had always been the dwarves that excelled in mining, that was why the elves had called them the Dhurgen'len, the Clildren of the Stone. But of course there had always been times when an excess of stone stood between an elf and his or her goal, so, being masters of magic, they had crafted ways to get around the difficulty. There came a point when hard, stubborn rock gave way to something much more malleable. The ancient elves had simply used magic to change the "state" of the stone from its regular solid form into a liquid, rather like thawing ice into water. Then, they would use their magic to reshape this liquid stone, like a potter moulding clay, into the new shape they desired. Doing it on a large scale had usually required several mages working in tandem. Merrill did not have several mages, and Anders had put a uniform ban on her summoning any other friendly Spirits to her side of the Veil to help her with her little project as she had originally intended to do.

 _:I don't see why not,_ : Merrill grumbled to herself. _:It's not like I was going to summon over many of them, and I would have cleared the area with a tenn'shii first so that no inimical Spirits could cross over.:_

But her teacher had been adamant about it, so Merrill had had to find another way about it, and eventually she'd had to ask the other Keepers for help. Over the last week or so, Merrill sent her mind deep into the Fade in the precise spot where her clinic was to be built. She was no Dreamer, but she knew enough of the uthenera to understand how to create a magical "environment" within the Fade itself. She'd used spells and her own magic to create a sort of quasi-magic "shell," a projection of what she wanted the material world on the other side to look like, and had then laid in pre-made "lines" for the magic of her spells to flow into, creating a structure of magic on one side of the Fade that, with the right magic, and the right timing could be "switched on" at a later time to aid her in her working. Then, in preparation for the upcoming spell, she'd created twelve, great single-use staffs, each of them crafted and pre-loaded to perform a small, specific part of a larger spell. That spell would essentially merge the facsimile of the reality she wanted to create that she'd pre-designed on the other side of the Fade and in pulling it through it would help her reshape solid reality. The staffs had to release just the right amount of their stored magic at just the right times and just the right places to guide the guide the already flowing currents of magic in just the right patterns for it to work. It was a meticulous spell.

 _:Fortunately for everyone involved, even the Alienage elves have passed down their own lore, preserving the past among their people._ :

The elves of the Alienage still knew the old dances, as it was deemed harmless by their overlords. What they did not know, either the shem or the elves themselves, was that these old dances were actually to movements needed in the rituals for conjoined magics. The Keepers with thier crafted staffs would move in the ancient patterns of the dance, and Merrill would stand at the central pivotal part modulating and conducting the flow of magic, making a ritual for one enormous working. It was ambitious, but it was necessary.

"You all know this one, yes?" Merrill looked anxiously at the twelve faces ranging in age from nearly-ancient to all but a child.

They each gave affirmation in thier own ways, Old Yama with a solemn nod, Rinu and Sulhan with matching anticipatory grins, Soilana and Atsuya with cooly afronted looks that she might thenk them so ignorant, Tetsu, Shunsui, and Yarune with sedate smiles and little Moria by pumping her staff into the air.

"My people have distracted the city guards and the Templars away form the Alienage, and the gate is closed for the night," Spy-Keeper Soilana reported as a reassurance. "We're safe to do our work without fear of interruption."

Merrill signaled to the nearby quartet of musicians and the flutist put the reed to her lips and Merrill stepped into the center of the circle and the twelve took up their places around the perimeter. The raising of the structure that was to become Merrill's clinic was the opening test-run in a much larger plan by the Keepers to improve their Alienage in general. After the clinic was built, the next project tehy wished to tackle would be the sewage system. This followed by fresh water treatment and fountains for every Hex courtyard, irrigation in the food-terraces, actual proper streets through the Alienage, then Creators willing, perhaps even a project to remove some of the detritus that had built up over the centuries in the Alieangaes tiny harbor. But they first had to succeed here.

"Alright," she murmured to herself, focusing her will and sinking into her magic. "It all starts here!"

With the opening notes Merrill centered herself and reached for the Fade, pulling in magic and sending it flowing along the lines she had mapped out, sinking it deep into the rock beneath her feet and into the air above her head, creating an ephemeral barrier, at one particular note in the song, like a signal, she pulled and twisted, purifying everything within. The netword of cleansing and evil dispersing wards she'd woven into the very stones where her clinic would be built activated, creating a shell of clean magic. Then the true working could begin. The solitary note of the flute died away and the Keepers readied their staffs. The drums and fiddle started, signalling the first steps in the true ritual.

All elves knew how to dance. Cooperative, collective rhythm was an instinct for them as much as breathing was. Merrill thought that perhaps it might actually be a throwback from something else, perhaps from the way their ancestors had once practiced magic. The staves thumped into the ground, precisely in rhythm the fisrt time and Merrill could feel the magical resonance throb through her bones as the ritual awakened the magic she'd already laid in. The "shell" on the other side of the Fade began to resonate strongly with the pre-set spells she'd written into reality, the staves lit up as the resonance pulled the magic through.

 _:It's working!:_ Merrill thought in inward jubulation as she felt the spell itself take on a bit of a life of its own the instant that all twelve Keepers thumped their staffs in perfect unison on their exact respective sigils of that point in the spell and the right amount of magic from the magic stored within the staffs released in a small burst, joining the working and flowing to its designated area.

Merrill kept a tight reign on the master-currents shaping the patterns and carefully controlling how much magical energy was allowed to flow in as she herself executed the intricate steps of the dance. The gravel that she'd had piled up in key spots around where the walls of the structure would be began to shiver, blurring around the edges as it vibrated harder then with a mental twist on the reigns of the magic spell, Merrill changed their state of matter at the stone turned into a gritty liquid.

The sound of drums and the hum of the fiddle intensified, the tempo of the song increasing as the spell power built for the staffs thumped on the sigils carved in the ground, pouring more magic into the working. Merrill danced in the center, weaving the energies into a complex web, pushing and pulling, keeping the power levels even and flowing. Walls poured themselves into the "moulds" created by the spell, slowly lifting up bit by bit. The air grew heavy with magic as more pulled across the fade with every thump of their staffs. Soon it was a struggle to even move as her limbs felt as though she was clothed in lead weights. Still she persisted, pushing her body through the patterns by strength and sheer force of will.

Written into the very stone of the walls were complex wards for protection and to banish all inimical spirits or magic that might be drawn to her new place of Healing by any sickness and suffering within. She layered them atop one another and wove their energies together even as the walls built up particle by particle, pushing the purifyig magic into the very stones of the clinic itself. First the first story, and then the second formed, wards awakening one by one and merging with the stone. A flat, slightly angled, roof of sealed stone for when it rained poured itself over and solidified. At last, the third story structure that covered half of the second story roof rose up from poured gritty stone-liquid and solidified. By the time they began the last steps of the spell to seal off the loose ends of the flow and disperse any extra magic hanging about, Merrill was utterly drenched in sweat and felt like she'd tried to swim against the tide from Kirkwall to Denerim.

The end of the great ritual spell was somewhat anticlimactic as there was no finishing burst of light, or magical fireworks, just the last of the spell-residue sinking slowly back into the Fade, leaving behind the physical shell of the building they'd just created and the wards sunk into the stone humming softly in the background of her magical senses, guarding passively against inimical Spirits and dark magics.

 _:Probably better there's no fanfare,:_ Merrill told herself to sate her slight feeling of disappointment in the lack of a bigger show. _:The last thing any of us needs is more Templar-shem poking their noses into things!:_

She collapsed to her knees right where she stood and noted that all of the other Keepers did the same. They were all breathing heavily but the beautiful building that had built up around them was testament to what they could do... and that it worked!

"A fine beginning," said Keeper Yarune from Twelfth.

"My architects and Sulhan's carpenters will be in in the morning to lay the floors, put in the windows, assemble the beds and all of the rest," Keeper Lierran said, propping himself up on his elbows. "We should have everything ready in a week."

Merrill nodded in thanks, to exhausted right then to do anything more than that.

"Until that time," Old Yama said with aged dignity. "You've said you'll move in with your own teacher, Anders of Darktown. Come back on the third day of the next sennight and everything will be ready for you."

In reply, and since she was already down on her knees, Merrill gave the most sincere and heartfelt thank-you she knew to give, the straight-armed tokeisa.

"Ma seranas. Thank-you, so much, for all that you have done. I will work to my very utmost to be worthy of all your efforts."

"With this beginning," Keeper Yama said. "It is our honor to aid and be your support, Keeper Merrill."

...


	41. Chapter 41

He slept lightly, as he always did. Just because he'd found an excellent place to entrench was no reason to let his guard down. That said, he did enjoy the luxury of a lie-in in the mornings, as there was almost never anything pressing that called him to be out of his bed. The golden sunlight slanted through the window hear where his bed was located in the sole room he'd claimed for himself in the entire (now mostly going decrepit) shell of the mansion in which he resided. The bedsheets he'd appropriated were of the finest, smoothest make, though they would probably need washing again before very much longer. He stretched out like a lazy cat in a sunbeam, enjoying the feeling of the smooth sheets soothing against his skin. Thanks to the witch's concoction that had gotten rid of much of the sting from his brands, he could enjoy the sensation.

After rising, Fenris washed his face from the cold water in the basin on the stand nearby, pulled on a set of loose tunic and trews, and went out to see to his first task of the day. He was never hungry just after waking, in fact he usually found it better that his appetite be stimulated by some vigorous exercise, and since his freedom rested upon keeping his warriors skills sharp, he usually gave it plenty of exercise. First, however, he had learned that he much preferred to have a bath after his morning sword-work. He had a lingering fastidiousness about personal cleanliness that held over from his days as Danarius' body-slave. His former master would not abide slovenliness in any form, and he'd been strict in his regimens of absolute cleanliness. In his former masters mansion, hot and cold running water had been a given, though generally the kitchen-slaves hauled the hot water for the masters bath. His first task of the day was to haul water for his own after-swordwork bath since there were none to do it for him.

Hauling water was slaves work, and Fenris knew he'd done quite a bit of it even before his operation had given him lyrium brands and taken his memory. There were no courtyard "wells" in hightown, as the city's noble residents considered themselves above such plebeian things as a public water supply. No, the water was piped directly into the homes of the wealthy, and the city took an extra bit in tax for the privilege of the nobles not having to share their water with the common touch. _His_ mansion's water, however, had been cut off from the city water supply since the residence was officially listed as derelict and condemned, so all of the fancy dwarven pipes and the sewage had been cut off as well. Fenris had had to get creative if he wanted water. He had, instead, rigged up several large cisterns made from barrels underneath all of the spouts where the rainwater poured in, and it was from those that he hauled his own wash-water.

 _:Hauling water_ _and the sword-work is usually the only thing to go right,_ : Fenris reflected gloomily as he pulled up on his heavy buckets and traipsed through the house into the mostly derelict kitchen.

His stomach didn't awaken right after he woke up, but the lest said about Fenris trying to cook his own breakfast the better. He'd tried, but thus far had had no success whatsoever. The mansion came with a full kitchen, with a wooden chopping-block table, a cellar and pantry for storing food away from the pests, counter-tops for preparing food, and all manner of mysterious fancy instruments for culinary preparations. To his untrained eye it all looked very... foodish. Anyone who knew how to cook would no doubt be very impressed by the state of the art oven and stoves, and all the special tools and implements that went along with it. Fenris knew in the abstract that it could be used to make all manner of useful things, like bread and meals... sadly, cooking was an undisclosed mystery to him. It was even harder than reading, except with reading he was not forced to eat the unpalatable results of his errors. Generally, Fenris spent some of his hard-earned and carefully hoarded coin on purchasing already-made or even par-baked foods from roadside vendors or ate a the Hanged Man rather than risk his own experiments.

His attempts at cooking were all abysmal thus far. When he'd lived in the wilds as a fugitive, the results of his hunts were always half burnt and half raw and nearly all inedible, no matter how carefully he felt he watched it. After settling, he'd thought to save money by mastering the art of cooking; females did it all the time, how hard could it be?

 _:It seems they must pass down some mysterious knowledge among their sex that males are not privy to_ ,: he mused as he poured one of the buckets into a large copper kettle and set it over the stove, waking the coals he'd banked the night before and adding on fresh wood to heat the water... and perhaps his breakfast if he was lucky.

He pulled out the copper bathing tub and set it before the large hearth in the kitchen, then poured in the remains from the other buckets he'd hauled water from the cisterns in. It filled the bottom of the bathing tub by an inch or so and Fenris took another trip for more, only filling the buckets halfway for the cisterns were beginning to grow low from all of the baths he'd taken, and there had not been a good rain in a while. Water hauled, Fenris went out into the atrium, the widest and most open space in the house. By that point, the sun was shining brightly through the dirty glass in the ceiling, lighting the room in which he took his morning exercise.

Fenris stretched and limbered each muscle group in his body, meticulously warming his body up before setting himself to his regimens. He could ill afford a strain or a pulled muscle; if Danarius or any of his bounty-hunters came upon him while he suffered from such a weakness they were certain to take full advantage of it. Fenris was always very careful when it came to the treatment of his body; if his body was to be a weapon, then it was to be _his_ weapon, and Fenris would care for it with the same care that he spent on any weapon that came to his hand. After the warm up, came the first and easiest of the sword-dances, the forms that Danarius had had trained into his "Wolfs" body from the very moment that Fenris had wakened.

His instructors had been the finest gladiators in the Imperium; some of them slaves, some of them free men, all of them purchased at great expense to teach Danarius' expensive new Lyrium Warrior the ins and outs of his business. His business had been to be the finest weapon in all of the Imperium, and Fenris had learned his business well. It was no accident that all the bounty-hunters set against him, no matter how cunning, no matter how fine a fighter they'd been, had all been unsuccessful. Yes, he needed and valued Hawke's promise to stand at his side when Danarius at last came to reclaim his recalcitrant property, but Fenris was not one to put all of his weapons in one sheath.

The easiest and most preliminary of the warriors-dances out of the way, Fenris moved on to the intermediate. He was not practicing the sword-dances right then, choosing instead to focus on his purely empty handed forms for the moment. He was a master of the greatsword, despite his lithe elven form, but he did not rely solely on it. Fenris had been caught without a weapon on more than one occasion and so he kept his empty-hand combat sharp. Empty-hand combat, aside of being always reliable, was also the foundation upon which weapons-combat was built. Fenris drilled his body, reaching ever for perfection, more speed, greater accuracy, more power. The regimen of barehanded froms he'd chosen for that day, once the basic warming forms were gotten through, were a few of the more tricky; reliant upon awareness of his environment and exquisite natural balance for proper execution. He was pleased that his body responded to him so well; his muscle control was without fault and his movements were smooth and precise as any instructor could have wanted.

The Sword-dances were his personal favorites, no matter how useful and precise his barehanded froms were, the sword dances were what brought a feeling of almost joyous serenity to him. He hadn't been entirely joking when he'd told the dwarf that he coreographed dance routines in his mansion all day. The sword-dances kept his sword skills honed to razor sharpness, each movement replicated some battle skill or situation to which his body must be exprected to respond instantly, and thus he trained his body. His practice sword was weighted to be half-again as heavy as the greatsword he carried with him into battle, making his movements larger and a bit more ponderous than his actual movements in battle, and in addition he carried weights on his waist, wrists and ankles, but the hard work paid dividends. When he fought in truth, his movements were lightning quick i comparison, making his whole body feel light as a feather when he moved.

 _:A fine morning's work,_ : he congratulated himself with a pardonable feeling of pride, hours later after the regimen he'd set for himself that morning had been seen through to his satisfaction.

He was scarcely breathing hard, though his body was covered in a sheen of sweat and his light exercise tunic underneath his weighted vest was soaked through. His stomach was growling as well.

_:The water is most definitely heated by now, I should think.:_

It was a bit tedious having to do everything for himself, but Fenris rather liked the privacy of his own apartments, though his fastidious nature would have partly liked to get rid of all of the more extraneous rooms, just so that he could keep everything clean. The dead bodies piled up in the narrow entry way were there mostly as a warning to anyone foolish enough to trespass on his territory, rather than because he had a particular desire to host corpses so near where he slept. All of his friends had offered on more than one occasion to dispose of them quietly but he'd had to reluctantly decline... they were simply too useful as a warning system. The smell, however, had mysteriously gone away. When he'd investigated, he'd discovered that they'd somehow mummified rather than continuing to decay in the doorway as they had been.

 _:They look even more horrifying as mummies than they did as corpses,:_ Fenris thought, feeling partly pleased.

He strongly suspected intercession from the witch, but for once he was disinclined to chide her for her use of vile magics. They hadn't moved once since he'd noticed the mummification so clearly she'd not set to reanimating corpses... not yet anyway.

The water for his bath was ready, having heated while he'd exercised. He transferred the boiling water into the copper tub to join the cold water he'd pulled from his cisterns. The tub was not remotely half full; in fact it would barely be a third of the way full even after he climbed in it. Not nearly enough for a good soak, not even enough for a mild wallow... it was lukewarm as well, certainly not enough to relax or soothe those muscles he'd just worked so hard.

 _:It is enough to get clean with,:_ he reminded himself sternly, thinking that living in a city for so long and being shown the sorts of luxuries he'd once enjoyed as Danarius' pet could be purchased for himself if he'd only be willing to part with the coin for them, might have made him just a bit soft.

Fenris stripped down, climbed into the shallow puddle of tepid-turning-to-chill water and scrubbed his body off with a small cake of cheap, harsh soap. There was better stuff available, of course; softer soaps made with goats milk and essential oils that smelled much nicer than the harsher lye-soap he'd bought for coppers from a lowtown merchant, but... the nicer soap cost more coin than he wanted to spend, and the cheaper soap got him just as clean if not cleaner.

While he cleaned in his shallow wallow, he absently kept a tab on his distant connection to the witch. She was busy that morning; Anders, it seemed had a full clinic and now that his apprentice was a full-fledged Healer with all the training but in need of practice and exposure to a wide variety of symptoms, wounds and methods of Healing, he was certainly seeing that she got them.

Honestly, Fenris was beginning to grow a bit concerned. Granted, he had all of his own worries, but he couldn't help keeping track of hers as well. He justified his active observation of her day through their dormant soulbond link with the thought that, as long as they were connected any problem that arose for the witch might eventually involve him by default. He'd known she was up to something for the last two weeks or so; she'd been busy at Anders Clinic, but she'd gotten really excited when she'd been released for the day and went back to the Alienage. He could feel her intense concentration and the subtle song of her magic echoing faintly through their link, so whatever it was it had to do with magic... but she'd been so happy and so very _confident_ in whatever it was she'd been working on that he'd elected to ignore it, hoping that her magical nonsense would stay safely quarantined to the Alienage and would not spill over onto his own life.

 _:Now I wonder if that was the correct decision,:_ he worried tensely to himself.

Even the faintest echoes of the magic she'd worked with the night before had felt less like gentle, humming vibrations and more like great waves of magic shaking the thread of their bond. If that was only a fraction of the magic she'd worked with, what had the true strength of it been like, and how close had she come to foolishly gambling with her life again?

 _:Can she really be that stupid?:_ he wondered to himself.

Then he answered his own question; of course she could. There were no observable limits to her foolishness when it came to helping "her People." She was worryingly devoted and had been raised on principles of sacrifice and 'service before self.' Which was one more reason he worried about putting the girl in the unobserved custody of the abomination; Anders might be a fine Healer, but he was equally foolish, if not even more so, than the witch was when it came to his own causes and obsessions.

_:Whatever magical working was done the night previous, it seems to have turned out alright, but I rather hope that the elves of the Alienage will decide that she's quite trained enough for their needs and will come to take her away from the abomination before more of that man's own recklessness rubs off on her.:_

She was reckless enough all on her own, and her great successes to date had made her even more confident... perhaps dangerously so. The great power she'd wielded the night before had been done with such confidence, and the success had been celebrated by a light within her heart that shone like the sun. Fenris worried about the shadows.

 _:It might be dangerous to put a person who lives for service and sacrifice and also wields great power into the control of people who are willing to turn that power to their own ends,:_ he mused to himself. She was so soft-hearted and caring, she'd turn herself inside out in order to try to meet their hopes and expectations of her.

If it was dangerous for Merrill, then it might soon be dangerous for him. A fugitive's wariness of the unexpected was quite enough to make him prepared to investigate matters in the Alienage further. He resented her naively trusting nature more than just a little. If she was more wary and suspicious, like he himself, she wouldn't be always at risk of being used by those around her, and he wouldn't have to worry about her possibly winding up in a bind and dragging him along with her.

 _:At least this confounded link seems to have settled down, for the most part,:_ he thought with a resigned sigh as he toweled off and pulled on his armor.

He still got distant impressions of her thoughts and feelings when he cared to listen, but they were not terribly intrusive anymore. They were, in fact, rather more like background music now that she'd settled herself and was content; pleasant to listen to when he paid attention, and a gentle hum when he was not of a mind to pay attention to every excruciating detail of her life. If she heard his own inner musings and daily activities, she gave no indication of it.

 _:Perhaps she is too busy with her own concerns,:_ he mused. 

If that was the case, then what did that say about him, that he had little else better to do with his time than practice his sword technique and listen in on her every movement? Certainly it would seem to indicate that he should find more to occupy his time and his mind with. Perhaps another visit to the Gallows was in order, Knight-Captain Cullen had mentioned that he might have extra work for him, if nothing else it would give Fenris an opportunity to keep his skills sharp.


	42. Chapter 42

Fenris had come o the Hanged man that late afternoon to discuss the possibility of secretly reconnecting the mansion he was hiding out in back to the city water supply so that Fenris could have a decent bath. The problem was that the city charged for that service and they guarded the privilege jealously. Since Fenris' mansion was officially listed as derelict, there would be uncomfortable questions asked about the use of the privilege by a dweller that did not pay taxes. Still, Varric had promised to look into it for him. Rather than stick around to loose his coin to the dwarf, he'd been about to walk back toxhis manor when Varric had stopped him on the way out after he'd made his request.

"Consider it done, Broody," Varric said. "Oh, and don't go anywhere, we have a celebratory meet-up tonight and Hawke wants to see you there."

"What are we celebrating?" he asked curiously.

"Daisy and her little Keeper-friends down in the Alienage have finished up her new little Healer's nest and they plan to move her into it in the morning so she can start her work there. She told Anders about it last night, and Anders told Isabella, Isabella told Hawke who insisted that such a big change in her life meant that she should have a party to celebrate."

Fenris rolled his eyes.

"That lot looks likely to get her in _more_ trouble rather than less," he pointed out. "You do realize that by openly making her the Healer of the Alienage, they've all but outed her as a mage, don't you? The Templars already turn a blind eye to Anders' clinic in Darktown, but that's Darktown and they can afford to turn a blind eye. The Alienage is another matter entirely."

"Relax Broody," Varric dismissed with a handwave. "She'll be surrounded by ordinary chirurgeons, midwives and apothecaries. If they're careful there won't be any reason for the Templars to suspect anything unusual going on. Besides, the whole elven community is on her side, and she couldn't be any better protected."

Fenris snorted but refrained from commenting that the entire elven community being on her side was not exactly a huge advantage, and also that they were only on her side because they expected to reap the benefits of her magical talent. It was self-interest at its finest and there was no denying that.

: _Still, if it keeps the chit usefully occupied and away from the blood-magic, I suppose it matters little that others will work a willing horse, so long as they do not work her to death._ :

"I'll wager that your coin pouch has been heavier in recent days, what with not having to pay out a small fortune in bribes to keep her safe on the streets," Fenris remarked slyly.

"Well, there is that," Varric replied with good humor.

It had been some time since Hawke's merry little band of misfits had gathered in the Hanged Man. They filled two tables put together, the lot of them. Aveline showed up with Donnic in tow, who looked a bit out of place at first, but Fenris, uncharacteristically made a place for the guardsman beside where he had settled. Hawke and Isabella were the next to show up, the pirate queen sitting across from Donnic and Fenris, leaning provocatively over the table to afford a grand display of her womanly assets. Apparently Aveline's glower in her direction was the entertainment value in the provocative maneuver. Fenris shook his head, even living with Hawke didn't change _that_ about her. Sebastian followed quickly behind the paired lovers and took the spot on Fenris' other side.

"Hello Brother," the Chantry layman said in friendly greeting. "I have heard talk among the Chantry that you've decided to turn your perceived curse into a blessing by doing the Makers work with the Templar order."

"I don't know anything of the Makers work," was Fenris' reply. "But I do seek further advantage against the day when my enemy will come."

Sebastian looked a little disappointed, but not very surprised. He was a man who understood the burning need for vengeance against those who had wronged him, and he did not fault the desire in others. Fenris suddenly felt a curiosity about the conservative Chantry lay-Brother's feeling on a mage operating so openly outside of the place she was _supposed_ to be placed in, so he asked his friend

"What do you make of the witch's new vocation?"

"A mage operating outside of the Circle is not the way of the Chantry, but..." Sebastian hesitated, then shrugged and continued. "I honestly can't imagine Merrill doing very well trapped within the stone walls of the Circle. She has a hard enough time in the city as it is, and the Templars would not take very well to anyone who so blatantly flouts the Maker and worships heathen deities. I do not think things would go well for her there."

The Chantry brother smiled a little and added

"Serving as the Healer for the Alieanage however... I think it is no bad thing, all things considered. She's not practicing blood magic for one, and that's already an improvement. And she's serving her community. It is the word of Andraste Herself that said magic is meant to serve mankind and not to rule over them. I guess there's nothing wrong with letting Merrill serve, if she so wishes."

Fenris nodded, hiding his surprise at such a well-reasoned argument from the Chantry lay-brother. It was clear he'd given this a lot of thought (probably while he wrestled with himself over whether he should turn her in).

"Perhaps it is the will of the Maker manifesting in its own way, There's always the chance that her own people could reach her where I cannot, and draw her to the Maker's side," Sebastian added optimistically.

Fenris chuckled a little, both at the unlikelihood of it ever happening, and at the typical sort of optimism that his Chantry friend had.

Merrill and Anders were the last two to show up, Merrill apologizing for their tardiness and offering a sudden influx of patients at the last minute as the reason why. Fenris sensed a lie, and an underlying feeling of worry coming from Merrill, and noted that Anders was looking much the worse for wear. The shadows were deeper under his eyes, and his face looked almost grey as a corpse. Merrill, at least, looked in fine condition, though he could sense her worry over her teacher.

: _It seems she still has put no real thought or effort into alleviating this condition we share_ ,: Fenris grumbled to himself.

Even in his own thoughts, the grumble felt half-hearted. It was good to see a mage genuinely wishing to serve others, even if it seemed she would not do so with proper Templar supervision. He worried a bit that she might revert to old habits, working as a Healer, being around so much blood all of the time might be a terrible temptation. Perhaps, if the Templars could not be notified, he would keep an eye on things in their stead.

Hawke and Isabella greeted the guest of honor with boisterous cheer, making a production out of sitting her down and getting her glass filled. Fenris sensed her shyness and embarrassment, but also her distinct delight in being made so much of.

"Och, you lot!" she said in embarrassment. "Anders deserves much of the credit for my progress. He's been a fine teacher."

"You've been a fine student," he agrued, unwilling to let her get away with trying to redirect all of the attention back to him. "Besides, I'd truly suggest that you enjoy the rest and good times while they last... tomorrow starts the real work and you'll likely have your hands full."

"Well, that's one good thing," Fenris said unable to resist adding in his own two-coppers worth. "Idle hands make workshops for demons, after all, and she's enough troubles to worry about with those."

"Pleasant as ever, I see," Anders muttered. "Who needs demons when we can all enjoy your delightful temperament?"

"Now now, you two," Merrill soothed. "Let's leave the war outside."

 They sat down round the table and, as per tradition, Varric dealt the first hand.

The evening was filled with laughter as Isabella and Aveline continued a tit-for-tat over Isabella's usual flirtations. Donnic was more interested in hearing about Fenris' training regimens nd Sebastions lastest marksmanship contest than he was in paying attention to Isabella which clearly put Isabella out, though it mollified Donnic's wife. Varric and Hawke were discussing the latest announcement made by the city about an upcoming contest that was supposed to be used to decide the next Viscount, though the makeshift council had yet to decide what the actual contest would be. The current front runner was a monster-hunt in the Vinmark Mountains though there was a great deal of debate over which monster should be the deciding factor.

Echoing down through thier link was a sense of nervous, tightly-wound agitation coming from Merrill. She was worried over the morning and the great change in her life it would bring. She was hopeful that being the Alienage Healer would bring a sense of meaning and balance back into her life by giving her duties and a people to serve, at the same time she fretted deeply over whether or not she was going to be good enough for them. It was the Merrill equivalent of brooding.

"So have you seen your clinic yet Merrill?" Anders asked, catching Fenris attention.

"Not exactly," Merrill said. "I built it using conjoined magic with the help of the other Keepers, so I've seen the shell of it. I've seen the scale model that Keeper Lierran made, but once I made the building, they all pushed me off to the side saying they'd take care of the rest. So as far as all the things that are supposed to go in it... well, I've left that to them. Probably better that way anyway; I could tell you what might fit in an arravell, but besides bookshelves and a bed, I couldn't tell you what all would go inside something this big, you could fit three clans in there and they'd never meet! They all seem to know what they're about so it's best to leave them to their work."

The soon-to-be-Healer-elf reached for her glass again, and Fenris noted that it was her second, she was starting to relax a bit... but there was the sense that she was still fretting over her future in the back of her mind.

"You gave them the list I made for you?" Anders prompted.

"Of course," Merrill reassured him."They said they'd make sure I had everything I might need. Keeper Sunahana also said she'd be taking care of the Healers Quarters personally. I didn't have the will to cross her on it, honestly."

It was later in the evening and Merrill had drank so much that she was quite tipsy. Anders was all but passed out on Isabella's lap, so she and Hawke were taking the abomination back with them, while everyone else left to go to thier homes. The mage was fully clothed in her leather and chain sheath that night so Fenris saw little danger in any accidental contact, so without prompting he helped her rise unsteadily to her feet and exit the establishment.

"Oh, you needn't put yourself out, Fenris," Merrill said to him, her words slightly slurred from the drink.

"Had I allowed you to venture out on your own in your current condition I would have two groups of people made at me, Hawke and his band, _and_ the Alienage Elves. It may just be even odds which would be the fiercest," he replied. "You have been fretting all night, and you drank too much."

"I can't help it," Merrill said in tense tones. "Fenris, what if I'm not good enough for them?"

The elven warrior snorted.

"Good enough? As compared to what, precisely? Anything you could give them, even if it's merely Healing potions, is already a vast improvement over what they have currently, which is practically nothing. Put your worries from your mind, witch. You've trained, and Anders speaks well of your talent. Simply work as hard as you are already prepared to do and..." he shrugged. "And matters will fall into place."

Merrill looked at him with pathetic gratitude in her eyes at the merest sign of approval from him. He harrumphed and pushed her roughly onward.

"Fenris," she said after a long moment of silence. "When will you be happy?"

He looked at her in dour surprise, taken aback by the question. Merrill could be naively direct, but she usually refrained from personal questions. Over the years she had learned to respect his boundaries. The drink had clearly loosened her tongue that night.

"Happy?" he said flatly.

"You're allowed to be happy Fenris," she added. "That's what freedom is for, right?"

He wasn't certain that what he had right then could rightly be called freedom. On most days it felt like nothing more than a stay of execution. Freedom and happiness did not always go hand in hand. Most days he did not understand what constituted happiness, he was content insofar as he understood it. He was not actively a fugitive which was already a vast improvement, and he had a roof, bed, food and drink. He had friends.

Fenris heaved an unsettled, grumbling sigh.

"No more drink for you," he said instead, not wishing to betray how much her direct question had unsettled him.

Life was better than he'd known for as long as he could remember, but... there was something missing. He assumed that the sense of belonging brought about by family might supply that lack, hence his desire to meet his sister. Danarius was still out there, so he knew that their business was unfinished. Perhaps once it was done there would be time to find that answer.

"Goodnight Fenris," Merrill said as she headed to her cot in the clinic where the three other members of staff that Anders kept on to run his clinic were already snoring away. "Sleep well and may the Dread Wolf never hear your footsteps."

He found his own way to his echoingly empty mansion in Hightown and scanned each open place carefully before heading back to his quarters. There was a reason he had not opened up any of the other rooms, and in fact had barricaded most of them shut. Having them open and accessible would give his enemies a place to hide if they should enter while he was away, and make it very easy for them to plant an ambush. He'd laid out booby traps to catch the unwary with precisely that purpose in mind, and he'd also had the witch lay out something she called "tells," magic marks hidden where it would be easy to accidentally disturb them, letting him know that someone had been there. His demesne was secure and he went up to his room.

His room was its usual sad and messy self, with the detritus of debris and bric-a-brac from its former owner piled up in corners. It was the one place that looked lived in, with his sword next to his bed, and plates and bowls that he ate with stacked on a nearby shelf; he'd always rather meant to neaten the place but that would have felt too much like claiming it for his own, and he knew that such was a dangerous thought to nurture.

 _:This place is not my own,:_ he reminded himself. _:I merely live here until such a time as Danarius comes to reclaim it and me.:_

As a slave he'd never owned anything, everything, including the cloth wrapped round his loins was property of his master and given or taken away at his whim. As a freeman, he had some possessions, but he did not dare accrue more, for life as a fugitive had taught him that he had to be ready to leave at a single moments notice; and possessions would weigh him down and be a waste of resources that might better be spent elsewhere when he was on the run. He'd appropriated what was in the room already for his use, but he did not consider himself as the owner of those possessions, and he would leave them behind without a thought. It was easier this way.

It was not a thought that made him happy.

* * *

**A huge thank you to everyone who has stuck with this so far and a very happy new year! As a gesture of gratitude to those who have patiently read, reveiwed and dropped kudos my way I'm posting a two-fer, so enjoy!  
**


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing major happens in this chapter, but I still love it. Even though she's lived in a city for years by now, Merrill is still sometimes so Dalish it hurts, lol!

Looking at the building she was supposed to take tenancy of in the dawnlight, Merrill felt her courage shriveling into a little ball clenched in the pit of her stomach, and began to seriously consider making a run for it. The new clinic-building looked _massive_ to her, easily as big as some of the ruins she and her clan had inhabited when she'd been a girl. Living in the alienage had done little to adjust her sense of relative size over time. She still thought of proper elven dwelling places as being about the size of an aravell, or a ger. Despite the fact that she knew, intellectually, that her people had once inhabited cities that were easily two or three times the size of Kirkwall, her mind just couldn't encompass living in a dwelling that would match that scale.

 _:Courage, Merrill,_ : she ordered herself. _:It's not actually yours, so... so don't be intimidated. Think of it like a ruin that houses your whole clan! Yes. Yes, that's all it is. One big ruin where you keep your clan safe and heal them.:_

The first and second floors, she knew, were entirely and precisely that. The first floor was supposed to hold beds for the sick and wounded, the second floor was where the stillrooms, storage and the operating theater was supposed to go. Even the third floor, or rather open-air half of the roof-top was taken over almost entirely by a rooftop garden for Merrill to grow her medicinal herbs (hopefully, getting rid of entirely, the alienage's dependence on the shemlen herbalists).

: _You see, there's only a **tiny** section that you'll be expected to call your own, Merrill... just like a Keeper's ger. It's no different really. This big place is just where you'll be expected to do your work. It's no different than the position you would have been expected to take up someday as Keeper anyway. No different. No different. Not intimidating at all.:_

She mentally kept saying that as a mantra while she stepped into the long shadow cast by the enormous building and tried to calm her racing heart. Perched atop an upjutting cliff side that looked out over the sea all along one long wall and the Alienage on the other, it seemed even more massive and intimidating in its solitude. From the outside, the clinic was a long, rectangular building, with two stories of tall, narrow, floor-to-ceiling windows on all sides. The third story was half flat-roof, and half another story. It was all white-washed, with stucco to reflect away the worst of the heat. Trellises built onto the walls between the tall windows for some of the vine-plants Merrill intended to grow down along the side of the roof to hang on to. 

_:No different, no different, not intimidating,:_ she chanted to herself as she stepped fully into the shadow of the building and walked up to the large front porch that had been built on to the entrance at the narrow end of the building.

The ever-serene smiling matchmaker-Keeper of Fourth Hex was there to meet her on the front porch patio of the clinic. Merrill's nerves tightened again and she clutched her staff in a deathgrip and forced herself to bow politely.

"A-Andaran'atishan," she squeaked, her voice coming out shrill with nerves rather than the dignified sound she'd hoped for.

 _:And you sound like a fool already,_ : she thought in hopeless despair. _:No-one's ever going to want you to heal them if you look terrified of entering a building. Pull yourself together!:_

"Greetings, Keeper Merrill," Keeper Sunahana replied with a small bow.

There was a knowing twinkle in her eye that said Merrill's near-terror was showing on her face, but the Keeper was going to magnanimously ignore it. Merrill straightened her spine, and put on her "Marethari Face."

 _:If you can't be brave on your own, at least **pretend** you're not terrified!:_ she commanded herself. _:Really, Merrill, you'll embarrass your Keeper!:_

She didn't want to make her own Keeper look bad by having raised a coward, so it was time to straighten her spine and act like she'd earned her valla'sliin!

"Please come inside to your new home," Sunahana said with a slightly deeper version of her usual beatific smile.

Merrill allowed herself to be led through the wide double-doors at the narrow end of her clinic that faced the entrence to her Hex (wide, because there might come a time when the wounded needed to be carried in and it was best to have extra room to maneuver). To Merrill's untrained eyes, the first story open-room looked like an enormous cavern! Empty beds, widely spaced for easy maneuvering between them, lined either side of the room at waist height in order to easily tend the sick. There were several drawers built into a unit under each bed to hold bandages, extra tools and medical accouterments for easy access. Above each bed was a long square of wood, denoting that it could be pulled down into a built-in bracket to create an extra bunk to hold more sick or wounded if needed.

Tall floor-to-ceiling windows between the beds let in the maximum amount of light to see by, with wall-sconces for lighting at night as well. Everything was white-washed and bright. Square wooden pillars supported ancons that held up the slatted wood ceiling of the first floor and held extra light-sconces to illuminate night-time Healing as well. In the narrow back wall of the rectangular clinic was the main staircase leading up to the second story room and a warning plaque that said "authorized personnel only!" on it. Directly to the right of the entrance was a long counter with stools behind it, and a staircase that led to the second floor operating room denotd by a brass plaque that warned that it was reserved for the chirugeon. Beside the counter was a small seating area with two overstuffed chairs a low table set with a board game.

"As you can see," Keeper Sunahana said. "We have made every effort to supply ample space for your patients, good lighting as you requested, and storage for all of the various tools and apparatus of the healing trade."

She sounded quite justly pleased with herself. Merrill felt overwhelmed.

"All of this..." she said, sounding faint even in her own ears.

"Come, let us show you the second story," Sunahana aid briskly.

The second story had been split roughly into thirds. The section in the front directly overtop the entrance of the clinic was home to the operating theater. The room looked open and airy with its large bank of windows surrounding all sides of the room. The floor had been tiled in ceramic, and there was a rack-like bed with no cushioning, and several racks of equipment waiting nearby. The middle third of the second story had two rooms with floor to ceiling built-in storage closets and rows of drawers. Sunanhana showed her which were for holding the prepared medicines, rolls of bandages, sanitation supplies, and the spare tools of a Healers trade, all of which, she added, would be the purview of her assigned nurses under the oversight of Rin. Merrill didn't know who this Rin was. There was also a workroom designed for some of her magical work as well. The back section nearest the main stair had been divided up into a number of smaller, compartmented rooms, many of which were, Merrill could tell, for the curing of herbs and the making of medicines if all of the various stills and extractors were anything to go by. 

_:The amount of effort it must have taken them, not only to build everything in this place, but even just finding the materials!:_ Merrill thought gazing around her in wonder.

Elves were poor, and that was a fact. Raw materials, even simple things the Dalish took for granted like wood to build with, were hard to come by in the city. She couldn't imagine the time and effort it must have taken them all to find the things and make them. She felt humbled.

A second flight of stairs at the back end took Merrill out onto the third story roof, which was lined with row upon row of waist-high solid, stone planters on raised platforms. Merrill could plant plenty of herbs in a garden like that! The first parts of the building had left her head-spinning and her heart racing, certain that nothing she ever did could possibly be worthy of all of the effort they'd put into the place. The garden at least gave her some measure of comfort, like a touchstone that she could orient herself on, something familiar.

"And this, here, is your private quarters," Sunahana gestured to the building on her right. "We all pitched in to make it nice and cozy for you, so we hope you like it. I'll let you go on in and get settled, you can come down to the main floor and meet your staff when you're ready."

It was Sunahana's polite and subtle way of noting that Merrill must have looked like a wreck, and she was giving her a moment to collect herself before Merrill had to go and meet the people that would be expecting to work under the guidance of a capable and confident Healer. Merrill nodded, sending the Keeper a look of undiluted gratitude.

The "third story" looked rather like a quaint, white-washed cottage perched atop a larger building. A brisk sea-breeze blew from off the cliffside coast and there was a lovely view of the ocean on one side and the rooftops of the Alienage Hexes on the other due to the unique geography of where the clinic had been built. There were two large windows in the front of her little house with neat little planters under the sill trimmed with green paint, and a door in the center painted green. Merrill worked the catch on the door and pulled it out, noting that it was very solid. And walked into an elven dream-house.

 _:This can't all be for me!:_ she thought, looking around her in shock.

It looked so shiney to her untrained Dalish eyes. The smooth, polished wood floor beneath her bare feet gleamed softly in the light through the windows. To the left of the entrance a small kitchen-area had stone countertops of honey-colored stone that shone like glass, reflecting light from the windows and the white-washed walls. Clever cabinets built into the walls of the kitchen shone with polish and care. The ceiling in the front had been left vaulted, with beams exposed, making the front great room seem even bigger. Right-hand off the entrance was a seating area with a braided rag rug of creme and brown and teal-green, and the furniture teal-green made to match. A long, padded couch and several fluffy-looking chairs were placed in an attracive array in front of low bookshelves built under the windows, with glass and pottery display pieces all made to match the furniture scattered artistically on the tops of the tables.

 _:What would anyone do with so much stuff?:_ she wondered.

It was a never-ending puzzle to her. Books were one thing. A person could read a book once and get just as much enjoyment out of it the next time, or, if it was a reference work, a person might mis-remember a passage and need to refer back to it, but... _stuff?_ Trinkets like jewelry, or... or whatever it was people hung on to when they had grand houses to fill up. It was clear that the elves of the Alienage had gone out of their way to fill her home with lovely things, the bowls were all the same color of teal green, she had matching glasses made out of real glass... she supposed she could look at it as being a welcoming present.

The front of the house was spacious enough, but Merrill saw three more doors at the back of the greatroom.They were placed under a loft that took up the space between the vaulted ceiling at the back of the house and the flatter ceiling of the rooms at the back. The loft looked like it might be for storage, though Merrill couldn't imagine owning so many things that she would need a place to tuck them away.

 _:Maybe I'll take a First, once I get established...:_ Merrill thought faintly. _:A Keeper should have a First.:_

Curious, she investigated the three back rooms. The door farthest to the right led into a bright corner room, with a bed on the righthand wall in front of the back windows that was large enough to sleep at least three people comfortably. Aside of the massive bed, there was a wooden chest at the foot of the bed, a chest with a number of drawers on the wall opposite with a mirror above it, and a tall wardrobe. All of the furnture was stained brown, the walls were creme and the cloth was teal-green. When Merrill pulled open one of the wardrobe doors, she discovered that it had been filled with uniform frocks of white undershirts and green tunics along with warmer half-capes of dark green for when the weather turned foul. There was a large pull-out drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe filled with dark green trews for her to wear.

 _:It seems they've taken it upon themselves to **dress** me as well...:_ Merrill thought, uncertain exactly how she felt about that.

The whole place matched, even her new uniforms! It was like some sort of live-sized shemlen-child's doll house, with Merrill as the prospective doll.

"Might as well have a proper look around my ew dollhouse," Merrill said a bit wryly.

It was one thing to inherit a Keepers arravell, but she was beginning to get the feeling of being the Alienage's new toy.

The second room was narrow, and tiled all in ceramic tile of green and white, with a copper tub in the back, taps for running water, a basin-sink of polished stone and one of those fancy Dwarven flushing toilets in a small alcove to one side. A small cabinet beneath the sink revealed a storage of matching green and beige towels in different sizes, and a stash of extra soaps. At least she wouldn't have to worry about sanitation! The third room in the left-side corner was a small work-room crammed two workbenches for Merrill to lay her work out in and a set of tall wardrobe-like shelves meant to be stuffed with books and magical apparatus, with both sides of the door being hung with chalk-boards for magic work. It might have seemed cramped to anyone else, but Merrill found it cozy and inviting. The whole place was so _pretty._ It was clear to Merrill that the city elves had really put a lot of effort into everything. She felt both humbled and a little afraid. What if she wasn't good enough to warrant all of this work?

_:It's not that I think I'm a bad Healer but... my goodness, the alienage doesn't have many resources to start with, and I can't imagine where they got the materials to make all of these things? It's clear even to me that this is the best they have to offer, I don't understand why they'd just give it to me when I haven't even done anything yet?:_

And she still had to meet the people she would be sharing her duties with. It seemed it was time to stop woolgathering and go meet them. She took the back stairs attached to the outside of the clinic that led directly to the floor so any visitors wishing to visit her home wouldn't have to traipse through the clinic to reach her house. She was ridiculously glad to see Anders waiting for her when she walked around the front of the building and into the front door.

"Quite a set-up!" was his greeting upon seeing her.

Merrill nodded, smiling weakly.

"You look pale," he said in concern.

"Just a little overwhelmed," she admitted.

He slung and arm around her in a one-armed, almost brotherly, hug and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. Merrill did find a little comfort in the casual affection in the gesture.

"You're one of the fastest learning Healers I've ever taught," he encouraged her. "And you've a fine staff here to help. _And_ if you ever need me, you know you can call on me. You'll do fine."

"It's... it's just so big!" she said plaintively.

Anders chuckled a little and said

"Well that's a good thing though. There's plenty of space so you're not always cramped and tripping over yourself like in my clinic, and..." he winked mischievously. "There's enough empty beds that you're sure to get a nap when you're not busy!"

Merrill found his cheer infectious and soon felt much better about it all, even a little bit silly for having suffered such a case of nerves over nothing. She was still going to be Healer just like she was with Anders, it was just that her clinic was a little roomier on the inside and didn't contain so many shem.

"Well, let's go in and meet your staff," he urged her.

"Staff?" she asked, startled.

"You didn't think you were going to be expected to run this whole place by yourself did you?" he asked.

Merrill looked back at him blankly, for that had been exactly what she'd been expecting. Anders shook his head and chuckled.

"The washing alone would make it so you'd never have any time to heal anyone," he said good-naturedly. "Remember how much work you did in my clinic when you weren't Healing, and this place is five times as big."

Anders greeted Sunahana with friendly charm when Merrill introduced the two of them, though she had the feeling they'd already met, or at least knew of each other. Her guess was confirmed a minute later when Sunahana thanked him for his work on a patient she'd sent to him at some unspecified date, and the report that said patient now enjoyed excellent health. Anders politely replied that he was always happy to hear that a former patient was doing well. The polite chatter gotten out of the way, Sunahana beamed at the Alienage's new Healer, and stood aside to introduce her to Merrill's fellow practitioners of the healing arts.

"Keeper Merrill, these will be your staff members," she said.

Lined up along the counter to right of the entrance in the main clinic were six elves of varying ages; three males and three females, each of them wearing a variation on the green and white uniform Merrill had been given. It seemed she wasn't the only one marked out as a Healer, then. The first elf was a woman with an aura of capability about her with dark skin and black hair and eyes who looked like she could have been any age from late twenties to early fourties.

"This is the chirugeon, Maya," Keeper Sunahana said. "She's been taking on all of the most difficult cases for the last few years. She's as capable as can be, but--"

"I'd like to concentrate on my area of expertise," the woman said forthrightly, but with a serene kindness to her expression. "It's nice to know I won't have to worry about my patients dying of infection after I've saved them from a burst appendix."

Her bow was as businesslike as the rest of her and Merrill expressed her pleasure at working with her in the future. Maya didn't lack for confidence and Merrill felt herself becoming braver just by being in the same room with her.

"And this is Midwife Hamira, and Midwife Sella," Sunahana gestured to two much older women; one with streaked grey hair and a look that said she was tough as nails and people would be best advised to get out of her way, and the other with a more matronly cast to her, with soft brown hair and a plumper build (for an elf).

"Midwife Sella," Sunahana said, gesturing to the cronish battleaxe. "Hails from Seventh Hex. And Midwife Hamira comes from the Ninth Hex."

Merrill's brow furrowed in puzzlement.

"Won't your own hexes be missing you? Who's going to deliver their babies?"

Hamira's face softened into a delighted smile while Sella smirked a bit after giving Merrill a direct once-over, sizing her up.

"We're getting on in years to be running out every other night tending to one woman's case of nerves and some ailing child's case of colic, and some goat's indigestion," Sella replied rapping the floor with her stout wooden cane smartly.

"I have at least three other younger midwives I've trained, and it's high time they took over in their own right" Hamira added kindly. "Our respective Hexes will manage, and your clinic seems a fine place to practice our craft without the insane hours that come of being the senior midwife for the Hex."

"Our apprentices, or _former_ apprentices, will, I'd imagine, be running in from time to time for advice," Sella seemed strangely smug about that.

"Or medicines," added Hamira.

"I-I'm sure they're welcome to both," Merrill replied, trying not to feel intimidated and relieved both at the thought of having two such venerable and well-practiced elders to advise her, though she suspected Sella would run roughshod over her if given a chance. "And I look forward to working with you."

The next two to be introduced were two young men, not much older than Merrill herself was, named Lir from Third Hex and Orin from Twelfth Hex. They wore matching sleeveless tunics and trousers of pale green and they had their hair cropped close to their heads. They looked at Merrill with earnest respect as they bowed upon introduction.

"They'll be your nurses," explained Sunahana.

"Please teach us well!" they bowed in unison.

Merrill bowed back and assured them that she looked forward to working with them.

"And this man here," Sunahana gestured to a lanky older elf with salt and pepper hair and twinkling, observant eyes."Is Rin."

Rin bowed, Merrill echoed the gesture.

"He'll be your head herbalist," The Keeper of Fourth added. "As such, he'll be in charge of keeping track of all of your supplies, not just your dried herbs and prepared medicines, but of tools and bedpans and bandages. He has an assistant around here somewhere... I'm sure you'll meet him later."

"I've heard that you intend to grow enough herbs to run those cheats who call themselves herbalists at the shemlen marketplace out of business," Rin said cheerfully.

"I don't want to put anyone out," Merrill said carefully. "But I am a very good nature-mage, and plants have always responded well to me. It seems a shame to both waste talent, _and_ make my own people pay more money than they have for something they need if I am able to provide it for them with almost no cost and only a little extra effort."

"Good, glad to hear it. We've been at their mercy, being overcharged for their unwanted leavings for far too long."

The introductions over with, Sunahana left for her own duties in her own Hex, and Anders, seeing his former apprentice was settled, headed off to his own clinic to begin his days work. By a strange mutual accord, Merrill's new staff separated themselves out and took up their own stations. Rin went up to the second floor to take over the rooms for making medicines, his assistant, a gawky teenager with shoulder length hair and a nose too big for her face, had already taken over the store-rooms and was busy cataloging things and taking inventory. The two midwives settled in the padded chairs "for their old bones" in a small nook on the main floor next to the reception desk and the two male nurses sat in the stools behind the reception desk. The chirugeon went straight up to her surgery to settle in. Merrill felt a bit at loose ends, and since there didn't seem to be an immediate influx of visitors needing Healing skills right away, she decided she'd get a head start on one of her _other_ duties.

"I'm just... going to go plant the garden upstairs," she said into the silent room.

She wondered if she should be worried that there was no work for her immediately, but decided to take it as a good sign that there was no-one breaking down her door the very first second the clinic opened up. It was often like that at Anders clinic in Darktown, and you knew when there was a line waiting even before the clinic opened that it was going to be one thing after another all day long.

"We'll ring the Healers Bell if we need you duckie," Hamira said from the nook where she and her fellow midwife had taken out a board and were playing gan.

An afternoon spent elbows deep in potting soil did more to calm her nerves than a whole pot of tea, so when she first heard the Healers Bell ring she was in a much better frame of mind to handle an emergency than she had been that morning. She quickly used a spell to rid her clothes of dirt and washed her hands before rushing down the stairs to see what the emergency was. Far from being an grave emergency, or even a minor crisis, Nurse Lir had a howling young boy up on one of the beds while his mother waited nearby fussing with the baby on her hip, both of them looking utterly unconcerned.

"Healer Merrill," Nurse Lir greeted her. "Looks like Sib here broke his arm trying to climb the vhenandhal tree in the courtyard of his Hex. Care to have a look?"

Merrill nodded, trying not to appear to eager about it, but her only thought was

_:My very first patient!:_

Merrill adroitly scanned him with her magic. Finding nothing else wrong with him than a few small bruises, she turned her attention to his broken arm. It was more of a fracture than an actual break. There were hairline cracks up and down the bone, and those could be tricky, but Merrill had had plenty of practice at wounds just like it thanks to Anders. She deftly sent her healing magic in and suppressed his pain-emitters so that she could do her work without him howling in her ears. Next she sent her magic hunting along his femur, sealing the smallest end of the cracks and then working her way in. She laid hands on his arm and gave a little twist to nudge the bone into the prefect alignment she needed, using the pressure to help her knit the bone together. It was over in a matter of moments. Merrill released him with a small smile and said

"Try to stay out of the tree from now on, and listen to your mother."

"Thank-you Healer," the mother said, bowing gratefully to Merrill.

The young mother nudged her son and prompted him to express his gratitude for the Healing, which he did, rolling his wrist and shaking his arm, remarking in amazement that it didn't hurt anymore. Merrill returned with her own bow and said

"No need to thank me, I'm here to serve."


	44. Chapter 44

It was getting worse, not better. In the three weeks since he had first noticed the change in the lyrium markings on his skin, he'd kept careful watch over it. At first it had been nothing more than a very slight dulling in the marking's nascent cats-eye sheen, like frost on a glass. Over time that slight matte-ness on his markings had subtly begun to shift in color, dimming to a dull pewter grey at the very tips of his extremities. It had started at his finger tips and his toes then ever so slowly crept into his palms and the pads of his feet. Once the dimming frost had reached his wrists and ankles, the tips of his extremities had decayed further, darkening from dull grey to almost black. His body was starting to react strangely to the changes as well, his muscles felt stiff and sore wherever the decay touched, and he had become subject to spasms of mild pain from time to time.

Fenris clenched and unclenched his fingers, the muscles in his hands obeying him reluctantly. His hands felt sore and achy where his markings had gone black. He focused his mind and pulled energy into his markings from the Fade, preparing to phase his fist...

 _:It isn't working the way it always has,:_ he thought worriedly.

The magic was slow to respond to him where-ever the dull decay touched his markings. He could still _do_ it, but he could feel the markings in his skin going ever so slightly out of tune with the rest of him, making it more difficult to attune his body to the Fade in order to phase-shift his flesh. He pushed more power into where the decay had spread, pulling it from the brands that were still pure white and unaffected by the dark of decay. In the unaffected areas, the phase-shift snapped into place as it was supposed to, but it was becoming more difficult to get the decayed spots to respond.

The delay only added to his sense of disquiet at the unwelcome mystery. He didn't know what was going on, and he didn't like not knowing. He certainly would not have put it past his former master to have built in some sort of intrinsic fail-safe in his "living weapon" Fenris, some sort of decay or break down that came after he'd been away from Danarius for so long. Belatedly, Fenris now remembered the infrequent times that Danarius had called him into his study and fed magic into his markings. Danarius had claimed that he'd only been checking up on the progress for Fenris' adjustment to the Lyrium Brands, however Fenris was coming to suspect that there was a lot more to it than that.

_:It may be that the examination disguised some other purpose, perhaps he was adjusting the brands, or even the spell itself that keeps me immune from the poison of Lyrium. It may, in fact, be that without whatever it was that he was doing, I may become just like those poor sods in the Templars, the ones who have been subjected to doses of Lyrium for years and now are riddled with sickness and addiction withdrawals for their trouble._

Fenris had to find some way to stave off these symptoms. There had to be a way he could work around it, some substitute for whatever spell it was that Danarius had worked on him, a measure he could use to keep whatever spell Danarius had worked into the Lyrium Brands to keep it from destabilizing and potentially poisoning Fenris. He didn't have much knowledge of Lyrium, but he did have a source he could go to in order to get what information there was to be had on the effects it could have on a person and any potential ways to alleviate it.

The Templars. He had arranged a meeting with Knight-Captain Cullen and in exchange for information about the effects of Lyrium poisoning and any known ways to prevent of contain it, had agreed to help him with a hunt for a particularly nasty blood mage. Under normal circumstances, Fenris would not have been needed nor requested, however, the last three shipments of Lyrium to the Kirkwall Templars had been waylaid and the Lyrium had been carefully rationed. As a result, the Templars did not have quite the protection they would likely need to face down a blood mage who had been battening off the power of the sacrifice of Kirkwalls citizens who would no-doubt not be missed.

_:And whatever pet demons this man decides he must summon.:_

Knight-Captain Cullen had requested his assistance with the hunt, in exchange for information about Lyrium, since Fenris had a constant supply of the stuff already in him, and would, presumably, be all but immune to the blood mages tricks. When pressed, Cullen also admitted that Fenris himself had a reputation for valor in battle and his disdain for magic in general and blood mages in particular had apparently won him some cautious (though of course disdainful because he was still an elf) supporters among the Templars.

Preliminary to following the renegade mage's phylactery, the Templars had quietly investigated the usual places they looked when wanting to corner a renegade quickly. The Kirkwall Alienage, while suspiciously busy and industrious lately, was dismissed as a possible hiding spot. The renegade mage was a human and the elves were not over-fond of allowing humans within their Alienage. The next points of interest were the few free-clinics that dotted the city for obvious reasons; there was a lot of blood and death in them, and a canny blood-mage could disguise himself as an ordinary person wishing to help and then proceed to batten off the wounded that came in seeking healing as well as those who died on the table. According to the chirugeons in charge of each clinic there had been no new volunteers for staff of late, so the Templars had had to wait until they could get clearance to access the mage's phylactery and form a party to hunt him down.

Due to the shortage of Lyrium, the Knight-Commander had been reluctant to release the Templars for that duty citing a greater need to keep their forces nearby to observe their charges, but had reluctantly agreed to send Cullen and a few warriors of his choosing. His request to include Fenris as an auxiliary had raised a few eyebrows, but it had been reluctantly granted in light of the Lyrium shortage in the interests of preserving Templar lives.

Fenris was currently marching right behind the bloke with the phylactery down deeper into some awful catacomb-crypt deep in the underbelly of the city. He'd thought that Darktown had been dank and depressing, but at least the skulls of the dead had not been apparently used for wallpaper.

"What is this place?" Fenris asked Culled curiously.

He kept his voice down though realistically he needn't have bothered; between the clank and jingle of their armor and the sound of their boots sloshing through the shin-high water echoing off the narrow, claustrophobic walls and ceiling, they were all making more than enough noise to his fugitive-trained ears to alert the blood mage to their coming.

_:And there's always the chance that he's abjured a lesser demon to keep watch, though it is notoriously tricky to do so. Most blood mages will double-down on protections and booby traps.:_

"This is a crypt from the days when Kirkwall was still part of the Imperium," Cullen answered. "I've done a little reading on it as there are more than a few references to it in the Circle library. One of the ancient provincial lords used it as a place to sacrifice thousands in an attempt to create some sort of spell. All of his victims were slaves but..."

Cullen trailed off, suddenly realizing whom he was speaking to then cleared his throat in embarrassment as Fenris growled deep in his throat.

"Yes, well, regardless of what it was in the past, now its mostly used by blood mages as some sort of awful retreat."

"Why not simply destroy it?" Fenris asked logically.

"Whole sections of the city were built on top of it," Cullen replied. "If we tried to collapse the tunnels there'd be rampant deaths and property loss from above. There was a movement in the Glory Age to fill in some of the tunnels, but when workers started dying and then spontaneously coming back to life... well, they decided that it was a better idea to wall the whole thing off."

"I thought Darktown was the only dank catacomb nested within the ancient ruins of the quarries, why don't they move here too? Surely at least the carta...?"

"Not even the carta," Cullen replied. "No-one will come to this place for the same reason that blood mages like it; too many mysterious happenings, and the dead don't ever seem to stay dead."

"Perfect," Fenris grumbled.

He supposed he shouldn't complain. After all, he could be facing another demon-construct like he had with the witch in Pride's End on the Sundermount.

 _:Then again, who knows what manner of foulness this blood-mage has managed to conjure from the depths of the Void,:_ Fenris thought.

Almost as if on cue, Fenris heard the distinctive rattle of bones sorting themselves out, and pulled out his two-handed sword to ready for an attack. The Templars surrounding him carried on, apparently oblivious of the danger they were about to be in, except for Cullen who had also drawn his weapon when he noticed Fenris reach for his own. The Templars, clearly mystified, followed suit and then fanned out in formation.

There came a wave of bone-creatures clogging the tunnel before them, and not only that, some were crawling along the walls and scurrying across the ceiling like insects, their movements making a shiver-inducing scraping rattle as they skittered into view. Fenris went to work, charging to the fore and laying about with his sword. Fortunately for him, the bones that were animated by weak spirits with little animation or will of their own were all dried brittle things that had been rotting for centuries. They crumbled to dust and shattered like mirrors the moment his blade swept into them with any force. He and the rest of the Templars made quick work of them and continued on.

No-one bothered to sheathe their weapons now, for the animated skeleton horde told them both that they were on the right trail and that they were drawing closer.

_:Or... that they were a distraction so that the spider at the center of this web could lay in his next trap.:_

He advised the other Templars to be wary and on the look out for anything suspicious, citing a time he'd went slaver-hunting with Hawke and the first wave had only been a distraction while the real threat was put into place.

Sure enough there came a three-way split in the tunnels. The tunnel farthest on the right was blocked by rubble and it was the one that the phylactery pointed to. The center tunnel was swept clean of all dust and debris, and the tunnel farthest to the right looked old and decrepit, ready to cave in on itself. The Templars paused to debate their strategy.

"The right one's closed off and that's where the phylactery points," one Templar, a hardened veteran said. "He's walled it off, perhaps, but he still has to be getting his food, and dragging off the helpless somehow. The tunnel that looks as though it has been used lately is our best bet as it lies adjacent to the walled off tunnel where he's made his lair."

Feris frowned, examining the floor with the eyes of a man who had been pursued from the heart of the Imperium to Kirkwall with slave-catchers and bounty-hunters hounding his escape. He knew how to lay a false trail. The middle path had been swept clean, but there were no drag-marks or footsteps...

_:In fact, these look like they were cleared by the hands of skeletal servants, those marks are bone or I'll eat my sword.:_

"The middle is a false trail," Fenris declared assertively.

He moved to check the left hand tunnel. It was covered with dirt and debris but there were no foot-prints. Odd.

 _:It's entirely likely he's using some other, more obscure egress, and leaving both passages to be booby-trapped,:_ Fenris snorted with amusement.

"How do you know?" the Templar demanded.

"It's been deliberately swept," Fenris replied. "Your average blood mage, I'll wager, is not so keen on good housekeeping. The left likely also has traps in it..."

Fenris knocked the flat of his blade against the side of the decrepit tunnel and a load of dust, dirt, sand and splintered bones cascaded down into the passageway, spreading itself overtop the detritus already there. That explained that.

"If we're not going to clear out the right passage, we should take the left, though I still think he'll have another way of getting in and out that we don't know about and is using this to funnel us all down a line of traps to injure us and whittle down our numbers."

"What do you know?" The veteran scoffed.

Fenris narrowed his eyes at him, wanting to assert that he was the one with experience as a fugitive and he'd hunted clever slavers and blood mages both, but he also knew it would do no good. The shem resisted taking orders or even good advice from those they felt beneath them.

"Bertmyn, peace," Cullen, ever the peacemaker said. "I did bring him on for more than his lyrium abilities. Elves are natural trackers, from all that woodland lore and such."

 _:And it seems even Cullen isn't entirely without his own racial steroeotypes,:_ Fenris snorted to himself.

"What do you think we should do Captain?" one of the other Templars, a young buck for whom this was his very first blood mage hunt, asked.

Cullen paused, surveying his options and then said

"We'll clear out the right path. The blood mage won't expect that we'd take the time to do it, and thus he likely won't have laid traps in it. He'll be betting on us taking either the center or the left. Let's get to it."

They formed a small chain with two Templars excavating the tunnel, using their swords as impromptu picks, and the rest moving the larger chunks of detritus away. It took longer than any of them would have liked, and they all had to pause for a sip from their canteens after the exertion of the work before they proceeded onward.

They were rewarded down the way with signs that Cullen had made the right choice and that this tunnel was the one that was inhabited. There was a hole in the ceiling of the tunnel with a small round tunnel leading upwards a way to some sort of cap on it. There were signs and tracks of great activity directly underneath it, pointing to this being the point where the blood mage got in and out of the catacombs with his victims.

Further down the way there came the suppressed stench of decay and the narrow tunnel widened out into a round, circular hub which another number of tunnels branched off from. Piles of white ash were littered the widened chamber here and there with the occasional shard of burnt bone among them.

It was at this point naturally that Fenris heard a soft, rasping, scraping sound and a shushing sursuration he could not place. He drew his sword, peering into the darkness beyond the light of the torches they'd brought with them, the darkness gleamed back at him.

"What is--" one of the Templars demanded.

The shadows shifted, like a candle-flame had flickered, and then a whole lot of pale specters rushed into the circle of light their torches made. They were wraiths, pale, glowing ghost-like shadows that vaguely resembled the shapes of men.

"Revenants!" a Templar cried, clearly recognizing their particular type.

Revenants were the lingering essences of memory of the unquiet dead, both those who resented the living and those who had become lost on their way to whatever awaited them on the other side of death. It was a common practice for a blood mage to capture and bind them into service; they had more will than wisps, and if they were fed enough death-magic they could have some impact upon the material world just via interaction of energy. These revenants had clearly been set out to kill.

In response, the Templars wielded their Holy Smite, calling upon the Maker to reclaim His lost children. The magical interruption that came from Holy Smite did an admirable job of breaking the spirits tenuous hold upon the world and they were banished with little effort.

 _:Things are going too well,:_ Fenris thought with his customary suspicion of good luck; that was, it was certainly going to go terribly wrong at any moment.

Following immediately upon the revenant's defeat, Fenris's stomach sank as he recognized the high-pitched chitter and squeal of...

"Oh bugger me over a barrel," Bertmyn muttered. "Why is it _always_ rats?"

"They are numerous, plentiful, vicious and they can easily be found in catacombs like these," Cullen supplied. "That said, yes... why is it always rats?"

"I guess this is where you come in new guy," Bertmyn added a bit slyly. "The rest of us don't have the lyrium ta give us the range, I've seen you with those mental blasts you do. Use your skill to interrupt that blood mage's hold on the rats."

"Or don't," Cullen cautioned. "There's an equal chance that if you use Mind Blast to break his mind hex on the rats they could all panic and swarm us."

"Isn't it the same thing either way?" Fenris replied, summoning up his mental focus in preparation to attune with his Lyrium brands.

There was a basic and annoying logistical problem with dealing with something like a blood-mage controlled swarm of rats; that being, that while the knights individually were much stronger and larger than the rats, the rats had a massive advantage with numbers. The knights could take them out in sweeps, but more of them would just keep pouring in.

"Now would be the time when it would actually be very helpful to have a mage with us," Fenris muttered.

The witch could be quite devastating with her area-attacks and she wouldn't have needed much to make short, flaming work of the hordes.

"The rules don't allow it, no matter how sensible it might be," Cullen muttered back. "Templar doctrine says its more likely they'd join the other mage, or fall under his thrall than help you recapture him. You're the closest thing we've got."


	45. Chapter 45

Fenris charged forward into the center of the horde and let loose with his mind blast. A ripple of energy expanded outward around him and everywhere that glass-like edge touched, the rats began squirming and wriggling, heading in different directions and fighting with one another. Seeing their opportunity to frighten the pests off for good, the other knight-Templars waved their torches around wildly and started banging on their shields. The noise and the threat of fire sent the rats in an instinctive panic, further breaking the mind-hex as instinctive group-mind mentality set in on the remainder. The result was rats scurrying away in a panic in all directions.

"We're close," Cullen said authoritatively.

"Undoubtedly," Fenris agreed. "I only wonder what dark horror he's been building up to, and how much trouble it's going to give us."

"You don't think he would have run while he has the chance?" Cullen asked.

"You have other Templars combing Darktown and any other likely egress from these accursed catacombs," Fenris said with a headshake. "And Blood mages are not well-known for their common sense. No, if this one's had a long enough time to batten on the blood of the innocent, he'll be vainglorious enough to think that he can make a stand here."

"What an excellent idea..."

A voice that seemed to come from all around them boomed melodramatically through the little cavern.

"I recognize the Templars, but what, ser, are _you_? I can feel the echo of your lyrium-song in the air around you, your blood fairly sings with it. How exciting!"

Cullen abruptly signaled to Fenris that he was to keep the blood mage talking, then the Knight-Captain communicated in hand signals to the rest of his group that they were to fan out, scout in pairs down only two out-branching tunnels that were not blocked by grates or rubble for the knight mage.

"Perhaps I shall keep you alive," the blood mage continued gloatingly. "Your blood alone must have the power of a thousand sacrifices in it, and it wouldn't do to waste it."

"If you want this hide of mine, feel free to come and claim it!" Fenris challenged. "Others before you have tried and none of them have succeeded."

"Ah, but none of them have had my power!" the blood mage gloated.

"Brace!" Fenris called out as he felt the echoing sort of ping resonate through his body that signaled that a mage nearby had just pulled some trick with the Fade and the Veil that he really shouldn't have done. Sure enough he air around him prssurized and grew heavy, there was a large shadow that materialized on its own in the floor of the cavern. Out of that shadow, like a slimy creature rising from a bog, slid the form of some lesser demon.

Taksin, the youngest Templar to make the hunt with them, immediately charged forward summoning his mental focus for a Holy Smite and then pushing the power into his blade.

"No wait! d-" was all the warning Cullen was able to get out.

Taksin's blade struck the demon, but instead of slicing through it cleanly, it _stuck_ in the creatures gelatinous skin. Taksin tried to remove the sword, but the creature only slid closer. In a matter of moments, it started to take in the boy. First his feet stuck to the ground, then when he tried to move them and stumbled, his knees and legs. One of the nearby Templars started over to help him but Cullen commanded him back.

"Is this how you fight?" Cullen demanded of the still-mysterious demon blood mage. "Is this your famous stand against us? Absorbing a child? Show yourself and fight."

"Ah, no. I rather think I won't," the blood mage oozed smugly. "Not when it will be so much more entertaining to watch my pets destroy you."

Out of the shadows of the corners, more of the oozing sticky demons emerged clearly intending to converge on the Templars who were circled up with their shields and swords out.

"How does it feel Templars," the blood mage gloated. "How does it feel to be the helpless ones? To know that no matter what you do..."

Fenris chuckled, tuning out the little idiots premature gloating and striding over to the nearest goo-demon. He attuned his markings and pushed power into his brands. They glowed moon-blue for a moment and then Fenris phased his fist into the very center of the demon then gave the mental turn and jerk that would activate his brands _just so_ , sending a magical jolt directly into the demon's core that disrupted and utterly destroyed the magical tether that held it in the material world. It dissolved into dark particles and Fenris quickly fade-stepped over to the demon still trying to absorb the boy, who struggled mightily against it. He phased and disrupted again, then went after the next and the next.

"This is a clever summoning," he warned the Templars when he'd finished the last. "It is not, however, the extent of his limits if even half of the deaths we can attribute to him are truly of his doing."

"Very clever," the blood mage said, sounding so smug even with the accolade that Fenris wanted to make a hole in the man's chest for him.

Rather than coming up from the floor, the line of bone-like looking fragments that Fenris had heretofore assumed had come from his previous victims, or perhaps some ancient creature that had once haunted the crypt, started to rattle and move. The layer of sand and dust began to shake and move in disconcerting ways. Out of the dust a creature lifted that Fenris could honestly say he'd never encountered before.

It was long, like a snake, but it had segmented legs along its length all made of some crazy bone-like armor. It was some nightmare bone-like cross between a millipede and a crab, but it was so big Fenris didn't have a ready comparison to make of it. The part that surrounded them in the dirt of the chamber was only the tail of the creature. Out of one of the tubes that Cullen had sent two of his men to scout came what had to be the head. The long vertebrate-like back suddenly jutted up at the head, revealing mandibles that were lengthened into scythe-like pincers where a mouth might have been had this been some sort of normal creature. There was an armored cage of bone just under the jaw and there the mage was merged into its snakelike death-centipede, controlling it from safetly like a puppet-master.

Oh, and it was _fast_. Fenris had just barely turned to take in the whole of the thing when it struck, lashing out with one of its armored crab-like legs to pin the young Taksin to the ground. The huge reaping-scythe mandibles sprang out to cram the boy into its maw-ish...

 _:Wait what will it **do** with the boy?_ : Fenris wondered even as Captain Cullen dashed in to shield the younger Templar from danger, meeting the sweeping fore-pincers with a shield-bash and blocking the attack long enough for the boy to scramble out of the way.

That was when he noticed the strange sort of quasi-circle on the undercarriage of the bone-demon. His memory supplied him with a similar sort of symbol that his former master had used in one of his darkest rituals. It killed instantly, by over-pressurizing the blood inside anyone who touched it, making them explode from their skin. That blood in turn fueled the longevity of the creature. The creature was designed to incapacitate and pull in its prey to come in contact witht he rune, the blood from its death then fed the spell and made the creature stronger.

 _:Well that solves that. I don't know what I was expecting. A blood mage summons an ever-hungry demon and then proceeds to go on a blood-soaked murder spree._ :

"Don't let it pull you in!" Fenris shouted. "And most especially don't let any part of you touch that red mark on its under-carriage. It'll kill you all but instantly and then we'll have to try to explain to your walking corpse that you don't really want to kill us all shortly before you explode."

"You sound like you've run into this creature before," Cullen said. "I do have to admit that, as many demons and blood mages as I've hunted, this one's a new one on me."

"I ran across this sort of summon in the Tevinter Imperium once," Fenris replied as the Templars scattered when the creature began to move.

It circled around them, trying to herd them, and it was incredibly fast. The Templars, however, no strangers to strange situations, and they quickly worked out a strategy between them wherein a group of them would jump up and down to get its attention then wait for it to charge at them, then duck and roll out of the way while a third warrior darted in from the sides and hacked at the weak spot in its legs where the segments joined.

"Oh good, I assume that means you know how to de-summon it then?" Cullen asked.

"No," Fenris admitted. "Though common sense dictates that if we get rid of the mage, we get rid of the demon. The spell only works so long as the mage is supplying the demon with sacrifices."

"That mage is in the most protected part of the damned thing!" Bertmyn snapped, gesturing to the sort of ribcage-like part that was covered in a thick chiton shell with the mage nestled smugly inside, gloating and toying with the Templars by lashing this way and that with its bone-armored tail.

"Fenris, that glowing fist thing you do," Cullen said. "Could you use it to by-pass its defenses?"

"Possibly," Fenris replied. "But only very briefly."

The tail of the demon came lashing at them, and the three of them were forced to dodge and roll, splitting them up. Cullen and Fenris went one way, Bertmyn another. The Templars, however, had been working together for so long (with the exception of Taksin) that Cullen's half question was as good as a plan to the veterans.

"On me boys!" Bertmyn thumped his shield twice and the nearest Templars formed ranks beside him and charged right towards the creatures center.

"Down to the wall lads!" Bertmyn called.

Instead of meeting a full charge, the creature, provoked by the charge, was met by an efficient wall of shields that the Templars had formed in one well-practiced instant that redirected the force of its own attack upwards. Cullen came at it from the side, launching himself off one shield and, sword slicing like a guillotine downwards, severed the creatures spine in half.

Now they were dealing with a creature that looked like a scorpion crossed with a man, only it had four clawing fore-pincers. While it screamed, enraged over its missing other half, Cullen landed hard in a pile of bones rolling to disperse his momentum and the rest of the Templars converged on their captain, forming a shield wall while her recovered.

"Fenris, did you get all of that?" Cullen called over.

Instantly, in that way that things on a battlefield made sense, Fenris _understood_. They'd use the same tactic again, only Fenris would get inside the cage, take out the blood mage and hopefully not die.

The Templars pounded their shields, provoking the bone-creature into making another run. It obliged them, pincers down and charging like an enraged bull at them. Once again, Cullen launched himself from behind the lines at the creatures face, sword ready to lop off its pinching mandibles. When the creature jerked upwards to catch him, Cullen switched out his sword for his shield, bashing the creature and leaving it stunned.

From the side, Fenris raced in, darted under the carapace and yanked magic from the Fade pulling it into his Lyrium Brands. The song of magic buzzed his bones and hummed within his skin. He gave that particular mental twist that pulled him out of tune with the material world and partly into the fade, or at least into some surface reality of the fade. The world became intangible and ghost-like burring to some soft, grey-green nothing-color. The bone carapace passed right through him and he jumped, praying that he'd pulled himself all the way inside.

He let go of the magic and the world solidified around him, snapping back into the frenzied rush of real-time from the relatively peaceful and disconnected reality of Fade-step. The mage that confronted him was... unimpressive. He was far from the usual sort of blood mage or magister, who were usually striking or at least fairly noticeable. This one was leaning toward the fat, and rather dumpy-looking. Working powerful magic took energy so one usually did not see a fat mage unless that mage was either really lazy or not at all powerful. The fellow before him looked like he suffered both of those conditions at once. He tried to summon a weak fireball to defend himself, but Fenris broke his concentration by the simple expedient of breaking his nose. Fenris pulled more magic into his markings, attuning his fist with arcane energy buzzing all around him then simply planted his fist into the mages chest.

: _Wait_...: Fenris paused before he ripped the mans heart out as he customarily did.

His brands, of their own accord, attuned to the magic in the mage, absorbing it the same way he had heard that certain mages could use death siphon to pull a last trace of power from their victims. A darkly delicious energy sank into the brands of lyrium in his skin, making them buzz with a sort of out-of-tune minor-key feeling. Fenris would have pulled his fist out right away, but then he noticed something.

 _:My markings!:_ he stared in amazement.

The spots on his markings that had slowly been fading to black as the dark of decay had festered and spread became noticeably lighter. An euphoric feeling of power flooded his system, feeling rather like the drunken high that came with inebriation mixed obscenely with a strange cocktail of lust and battlefield excitement. His heart pounded and his whole body felt alive! Tinglingly, achingly, power-maddeningly _alive_! He wanted to laugh and dance in a fit of frenzied euphoria but just as quickly as it came on, the lyrium finished absorbing the last of the power and the euphoric effect faded.

The use of his powers was entirely instinctive on Fenris' part seeing as there had never been another one like him, but he could feel his brands somehow attuning to the last vestiges of the mages life energy and absorbing that magic, and somehow using that magic to heal itself.

 _:So I was right. Danarius was using some kind of blood magic on me to maintain my markings,_ : he thought to himself angrily.

It was a fine insurance policy, one that was certain to keep Fenris coming back to him, if only to get his next dose of treatment.

 _:Sadly for him and luckily for me it seems that magic from **any** blood mage will do._ :

It was also fortunate that Kirkwall was positively lousy with blood mages. When the last of his magic faded along with the light of life from the mage's eyes, Fenris pulled his fist from out of the blood mage's chest. The demon-creature turned to dust and blew in a source-less wind back across the Veil where it belonged. Unlike in the plays, there was no ragged cheer of victory, the Templars went about their business checking on their comrades, ascertaining injuries and checking for any other nasty surprises with brisk efficiency. The only one to give him the least acknowledgement for his part was Cullen, and he only gave a short nod and a 'well-done.'

Fenris nodded back and drank down a healing potion, wondering if the Templars had noticed anything strange about the way he'd killed the bloodmage. But he supposed that they wouldn't notice anything unusual since they had never seen Fenris kill anyone before. Unlike his companions, they wouldn't know whether he'd done anything strange.

 _:I now have a way to keep lyrium from poisoning me without having to rely on Danarius,:_ he reflected quietly to himself. _:The downside is that it still requires a blood mage and... I wonder what sort of creature this will make me.:_

He'd seen Reavers on Seheron, blood-maddened savage berzerker fighters that grew stronger the more blood and carnage they surrounded themselves with. The few he'd met treated that Devour ability like the greatest high they'd ever experienced, really delighting in a blood-soaked battle. For the first time Fenris actually understood what they'd been getting at. The last beats of that bloodmages heart had made him feel so _good_ , so lustingly pleasured and yet powerful at the same time... he could see how they might find that euphoria addictive. Added to that, it genuinely made them more powerful. And now, it turned out that he needed it. His markings were far from stable, and the longer he spent away from treatment the more unstable they might become. This new discovery was a possible solution, but it made him wary at the same time.

: _Some of those Reavers became nothing more than mindless, killing beasts filled with berzerker rage. Some of them became so maddened in their bloodlust that they turned their power on ally and enemy alike, unable to make any distinction in the heat of a fight, and they were put down like rabid animals because of it.:_

What if the same thing happened to him as happened to the blood mages who became so drunk on their own power? What if this new need and the power that came with it turned him into a power-mad beast like those others? He couldn't in all honesty say that it would never happen, because it could. Perhaps... Perhaps he should turn himself in.

It was only the thought of possibly being turned over to the mages in the Gallows to be studied that stilled his tongue. The Templars might mean well by trying to preserve his life and "help him out" but really Fenris would rather die than be experimented on by mages. So that left trying to see how well he managed this _new little obstacle._

 _:I've made it through the excruciating pain of the operation and all those long weeks of agonizing training to master my powers, and I've managed o the run for so long so far. I think it would not be outside of the realm of possibility that I can manage this as well,:_ he decided.

The Templars scanned their whereabouts checking for survivors but there were none. They trudged wearily back to the surface, fighting half-heartedly the giant cave spiders and other nasties that showed themselves on their way up through the shortcut that the bloodmage (Fenris still didn't know what his name had been) had used that led directly to Darktown. He'd sustained minor injuries and Anders supposedly "hidden" clinic wasn't terribly far away, plus there was a shortcut to Hightown nearby, so Fenris begged leave of his Templar companions.

To his great surprise he was buffeted approvingly on the shoulder by the lot of them, and told that if he wished to work with them on future hunts, they might save him a spot on their team. Fenris remained as ever, aloof and non-committal, but inside he was a bit warmed at the hard won approval. Even Bermyn, who apparently disliked elves, unbent enough to offer a distant nod of acknowledgement for his work. Cullen told him he could drop by anytime next week to pick up the wage he'd earned for help with the hunt.

They parted ways, the Templars to report back to the Circle, and Fenris to find the abomination, get healed up, and go back to his fortress of solitude with a new bone to chew on. Kirkwall was lousy with bloodmages, yes, and the Templars had made it clear that they would not mourn the passing of a few more, if any such were suddenly to come to bad ends.

Fenris gazed down at his hands in the darkness, the opalescent shimmer defrosting and turning back to its previous color.

 _:It would be no bad loss, I'm sure, to rid the world of a few more of their ilk:_ he thought.


	46. Chapter 46

"Keeper," Nurse Lir said, holding the arm in position and applying pressure as he had been directed. "Are you certain you want to spend your magic repairing his broken arm? Chirrurgeon Maya says that plasters are good enough for this lot since it might actually keep them out of trouble long enough for this clinic to have a break."

"I wouldn't count on _that,_ young man," Midwife Sella said acerbically from where she stood wrapping the first layer of bandage around another broken limb in preparation to plaster. "Eleventh Hex never stops fighting."

"It keeps me in practice," Merrill said cheerfully.

That day thus far had been one of their busy days. Most days the clinic saw mostly scraped knees from children at play, sunburns, the occasional sick patient in need of medicines, complaints from the elderly. A few minor accidents requiring little more than being dispensed potions and salves; perforce the Alienage was largely self-sufficient where their healthcare was concerned... they generally couldn't turn to the Chantry because of the subtle (and not so subtle) racism there, so they usually settled matters amongst themselves. Merrill was pleased when she could help people, but more often than not, it was either chirrurgeon Maya who took over, or one of the midwives, or even her two nurses (who usually simply dispensed the required potion and told the patient to return in the morning).

Sadly, she had almost started to guiltily look forward to the days when Eleventh Hex took it upon themselves to host an all-out street brawl within their Hex. Those days guaranteed that she would be actively Healing right alongside the rest of her staff and competently fulfilling the duties to which she had been trained.

"Too bad even the finest Healing can't cure foolishness," Sella grunted acidically as she yanked and twisted expertly on the limb under her hands, years of practice in resetting bones had given her a deft touch for alignment.

Merrill hurriedly finished off with the patient under her hands and divided some of her powers, sending magic flowing remotely over to the patient under Sella's hands, beginning the preliminaries of healing his broken bone while she concluded the last of her current patient. Midwife Hamira was chiding yet another brawler as she relocated his shoulder, and Rin was carefully overseeing the dosing of those who had been stitched up in the surgery earlier.

 _:This team has really come together well!:_ Merrill thought with a little bit of pardonable pride for the staff of her clinic.

Midwives Hamira and Sella had known each other for years of course, being midwives of different hexes probably made them even _more_ likely to see each other rather than less. They also knew of Rin, naturally, though he was a bit younger than they were, perhaps being in his early forties. He had apparently been the main apothecary for the Alienage for a number of years now, and the medicinal still that he ran out of his home had been taken up by his eldest daughter who had a family of her own int he adjacent sleeping unit. Her two nurses had been picked by Keeper Sunahana, and everyone knew Chirurgeon Maya, who had fled from the Alienage in Ostwick for offending some local noble. She'd met and fallen in love with one of the fishermen in the Kirkwall Alienage and been welcomed with open arms by the Keepers for her surgical skill.

The personalities were very different, Maya was cheerful but with a surprisingly dry sense of humor, Sella had an acidic wit that could melt stone and was not shy about giving the rough edge of her tongue to anyone she felt foolish enough to warrant it. Hamira a was gentle and matronly foil to Sella and the two got along with surprisingly little bickering. Rin was more of a businessman than a healer, but could be easy-going despite his mercenary qualities. The two nurses had yet to really grow into their personalities as they were both relatively young yet. It was a lot of bowed heads and "yes Keeper!" so far, despite Merrill's attempts to inform them that she was not _actually_ their Keeper yet, as Thirteenth Hex had yet to be officially reinstated.

Merrill tried her best to be friendly and open with all of them, and while they were polite and friendly right back, she always sensed in them a desire to maintain some sort of line between herself and them. Merrill knew that line very well, and recognized it immediately for what it was. She'd been trained from a young age by her Keeper to one day lead the Clan. She'd felt that subtle distance and isolation from a young age between herself and all of the rest of Sabrae Clan. It was the distance of one expected to take up the mantle of leadership; a Keeper could not be perceived as being particularly close to any of those she led as suspicions of favoritism always followed. Even though she no longer lived in the Alienage... the distance was still there, for she was their only Healer and they were all there to support her.

 _:It's as lonely as ever,:_ Merrill thought a bit morosely. _:It's great to be needed and nice to be appreciated, but its hard feeling so alone all the time.:_

That evening saw the last of their patients tended to, and the rest of the staff bowed deeply and thanked her as they did every day. It was another one of those things they did that Merrill had given up on trying to get them to stop doing. It showed their respect, and she understood that they wished to do so, but at the same time she felt embarrassed. At first when she bowed in return, they'd just bowed again lower. She hadn't wanted to get into a bowing contest, so now she just accepted their gratitude and told them that she was glad they worked hard.

 _:Honestly!:_ she thought, shaking her head a little bit in bemusement as she climbed the back stair up through the second floor and opened up the sturdy trap door in the ceiling that led out onto the rooftop garden, and her third-story house. "Who's training whom here, I wonder most days."

She looked out over the side and watched with a slightly wistful feeling as her staff departed for their own homes. The two midwives climbed into two waiting rickshaws pulled by one of the young men in the Alienage. Merrill smiled a bit to herself in amusement as she heard Sella barking out that the rickshaw-boy should know by that point where they were to go... _and_ she'd delivered him and his _whole_ family into this world, so be quick about it!

Merrill shook her head bemusedly; Sella lived the life of being an old curmudgeon and lording it over cowed youngsters to the hilt! Nurses Orin and Lir had quarters in the half-finished set of row houses being built across the courtyard from the clinic. Lir was greeted by a young woman who smiled happily and kissed him in greeting. Orin's own partner was already out on the front stoop of their little home with his feet propped up, waiting with a bucketful of his latest catch nearby. Rin was already gone to his own family abode in Twelfth Hex, which contained not only him and his wife, but the families of their two eldest children with their grandchildren and a few nieces and nephews besides. Merrill tried not to sigh to herself as she looked at her own house.

_:It's certainly grander than anything I've ever lived in. There was once a time when I had known that my Keeper's arravell and all of its contents would someday pass to me, but even then I'd never felt any ownership of it. This place they've stuck me in feels ten times the size of the aravel I would have one day lived in, but sometimes I think that I'd give it up in a moment to be surrounded by my clan again.:_

Merrill still had trouble adjusting to the solitude both of her new position and of life in the city in general. When she'd lived in her earlier house in First Hex, it hadn't seemed quite so bad, she'd always had the thought of someday returning to her people to see her through the strange isolation of being closed in by stone walls. Now she was stuck in her new position. All of the fine things that the Alienage elves had created for her in order to make her feel welcome in her new home only seemed to remind her of how alien she often still felt.

Merrill walked through the garden, checking on her beds of herbs along the way and sending a little extra energy to some of the stragglers to help them along, then wanderedup to the front porch of her house. She paused for a moment to appreciate the fine twilight view of the endless blue-green sea below her, and the brisk sea breeze that always blew at that height, before unlocking the door and entering her home for the evening.

The interior of her home was dim with the falling dusk and Merrill casually sent magic over to light up the light-crystals that she'd worked on with Eighth Hex in addition to her current project. Her interior brightened up immediately with a steady white light that would have been the envy of anyone still forced to deal with candles. The glows revealed the fine, polished wood floors gleaming to a high gloss with wax and the open seating with its green stuffed-cushion couches to the right as she entered. She leaned her staff next to the door and tossed her Healer-green wrap over the arm of the nearest sofa. Book shelves filled every open space along the walls where there were not windows her house. The light shimmered on the shining stone counter-tops of the kitchen on her left and gleamed off ceramics and finely crafted glassware that had come with the house courtesy of the elves of the Alienage.

It was always quiet when she got in, and she knew she was supposed to be viewing it as a sanctuary from the busy hustle of her work as a Healer, but to Merrill, it just felt lonely.

Merrill settled her staff by the door and looked over to the counter in between the tiny hearth and the sink to discover that whoever it was that invaded her house each day, ran off with her dirty laundry and cleaned and neatened the interior of the home, had yet again made a meal and left it waiting for her underneath an overturned bowl. Merrill lifted the bowl and discovered grilled fish, a small salad of slightly wilted greens with some sort of sweet dressing poured on top, and two rolls with a small pat of butter to one side. There was even a jelly tart!

_:I sure wish I knew who was doing this so I could thank them... or stop them, I'm not sure which. Surely this must cost someone in the Alienage a meal they can ill afford to loose.:_

Another pang of guilt rose in her breast. The day before it had been a lovely seafood chowder in a heavy porcelain warming bowl, and the day before that some sort of seared fish on a bed of seasoned rice. She knew that the food couldn't be coming from no-where, and Merrill was certain there had to be other elves in the Alienage that were hungry and could use the food more than she.

To assuage her guilt Merrill took her meal with her into the little workspace in the far left corner of the back of her house so she could eat while she worked on her own private project.

Over the last week, in between the Healing she did at her clinic, Merrill had taken a closer look at the magic-run sanitizing units that had been cleared out in Tenth Hex and had quickly come to the conclusion that the amount of magic, and thus, the amount of keystones, needed to keep the system filtering and purifying the waste water the way it should was well beyond her own capability to supply. It would _still_ be beyond her ability to supply even if she used blood-magic augmentation... which was no longer an option as blood magic and Healing magic could not mix. Also, it unsettled Fenris and she still shared her thoughts with him. She didn't want to rile him up any more than he already was by her failure to find a solution to their mutual predicament.

 _:Well, technically I suppose I **could** supply the magic needed to run the system...:_ she amended mentally. _:But it would mean devoting all of my magic solely to running the sanitation system, and I'm already the Alienage's Healer so I can't do that.:_

The obvious solution would have been to find another elf with mage-talent and train _that_ person up to run the system. Unfortunately, Kirkwall was home to a Circle filled with Templars diligently hunting out anyone with mage talent and locking them uselessly away in their stupid Tower where they didn't do anyone any good.

 _:I have another solution to the problem, but I wonder if the other elves in the Alienage will go along with it,:_ she fretted.

Merrill had spent her youth in the ruins of Ancient elven civilizations and thus had been exposed to different magics than anyone in a Circle Tower was ever likely to see.

Her ancestors had used magic not only in the construction of their cities, but in the everyday running of them as well. Even though every one of the ancient elves had possessed magic, they hadn't all used it in the common everyday running of things. Not every elf had sanitized his own water, or grew his own food, just the same as it was in modern times, but likewise, the burden of all of the commodities that everyone had enjoyed had not fallen only onto the shoulders of a few either. _All_ of the elves had shared in the magical burden of their communal benefits such as clean running water, and waste disposal, and streets lit by magic. They had done this by the use of special keystones which had been created to passively harvest a little of their energy from each person, just skimming a little off the top, not even enough to be noticed in the average way of things. They had charged the keystones simply by carrying them around with them, then when the keystones were full, they were drained of the collected magical energy, and that energy was used for the good of their community.

_:They took a little bit from everyone so that no one mage was overburdened with the magic needed to run all of the little luxuries they were accustomed to.:_

Even a mundane elf in modern times produced a small amount of ambient magic in the course of everyday life that they did not use, much the same way their bodies naturally produced heat. Merrill had been working on forming a keystone that would enable an ordinary elf with no usable magic to be able to charge a keystone with the passive ambient magic they didn't (in fact _couldn't_ ) use so that every adult elf could be, for lack of a better term, harvested of this excess power. That excess power could then be used to run the sanitation system with only very minimal aid from Merrill who would simply have attune all of the keystones to the system once every other week or so and refill it in order to keep it running.

 _:It's been a bit of work researching and working out the replication of the old spell, but this should do the trick,:_ Merrill thought with a bit of pardonable pride in her work.

Ordinary keystones like the ones that she and the other Dalish Keepers had always used were generally nothing more than simple quartz crystals that grew near areas of senutheneran, places where the Veil was thin, which gave the stones some natural resonance with magic that enabled them to store a small amount of magical power. But the Dalish Keepers had preserved the knowledge of the ancient ways of making keystones, and that knowledge had been handed down to Merrill. The main reason that the Dalish Keepers did not use mage-crafted keystones or "magestones" (as they generally called them to differentiate them from their wilder cousins) was that they usually lacked the materials and the means of making them. Glass forges were neither small nor portable, and a Dalish Clan had to be ready to move at a moments notice.

 _:Luckily, there is a glass-forge in this very Alienage with a Keeper and his apprentices that are **more** than happy to help me!:_ Merrill thought elatedly.

Kirkwall, being both a port city and on the edge of the ocean, had access to the particular types of sand, stone and the few exotic materials she'd needed in order to craft the magestones. Of course, gathering the materials was only half of the project. She'd also needed to set the spell directly into the cooling glass of the new magestone as it recrystalized hot out of the forge.

 _:And of course, not just any old fire would do to make it either!:_ Merrill thought in a bit of exasperation for all of the failed attempts to craft a true magestone that had taken place before it had occurred to her that she would have to use "veilfire" instead of ordinary fire to create a magestone.

 _:But now I have one...:_ she thought looking with triumphant pride at the smooth round clear crystal that had a strangely silvery quality to it when the light shone through it, like the light shining through it seemed to take on the pale of moonlight.

It was no matter for a mage to charge a keystone, for she could just pull magic from the Fade and push it into the magestone to be held there until needed. What Merrill had required was for an ordinary person to be able to charge it without coming to any harm.

 _:Here's the sticking point though...:_ Merrill thought worriedly.

The spell to attune a keystone so that it could begin charging was a very simple one. The only real problem with it that Merrill could foresee was the part where a person attuned the keystone to their individual magical signature and activated the latent spell cast into the crystal matrix of the keystone by using a drop of their blood. It was, in a very technical sense, a form of blood magic. A harmless form, yes, but even the city elves were leery of anything that even remotely smacked of blood magic.

 _:I could tell them that I've taken every precaution in the forming of the magestones to ensure that it's perfectly safe for anyone to use,:_ Merrill thought to herself at the conundrum. _:But that will mean nothing if people are too afraid to use them.:_

It had to be voluntary, or the spell inside the magestone wouldn't work, not with the way she'd crafted the spell (wary herself of just such a concern). It only worked for healthy elves aged sixteen to thirty-five (in short, elves in the prime of their life who would suffer no ill effects from having their extra energy harvested). And the magestone would only skim off the very surface of magical energy that their bodies generated but could not use.

She tested the first batch out on herself and then on a handful of healthy individuals from Eighth Hex (who had helped her to craft the magestones, and thus were already curious about them). She'd had them come for check-ups daily while the testing was going on, just to make certain they were suffering no ill effects.

If she could convince the Alienage elves to go along with it, Merrill envisioned a system whereby any elf who wished to volunteer could pick up a magestone, perhaps from a dispensery in their own hex courtyard, key the stone to themselves, wear it for perhaps a sennight to let it charge passively, then simply place it, fully charged, in another bin to be collected later.

 _:Then all I'd have to do is show up every week or so to Tenth Hex, dump all of the collected magestones into the sanitation hopper and transfer all of the collected power into the system to keep it going. The spell doesn't actually require a great deal of attention to work, it more or less runs itself, all it needs is the extra power,:_ Merrill thought.

It would be a great system. She had everything she needed to make it work. She wasn't quite certain, however, how she was supposed to get everyone in the whole Alienage to go along with the whole "drop of blood on a magestone" bit. She had the feeling that people were not going to like anything that remotely smacked of blood magic.

 _:I'll have to enlist the help of the other Keepers for certain!:_ Merrill thought.

Eighth Hex, whose Keeper and apprentices had helped her craft the magestones, was already in support of the idea, but that was because they'd worked with her on the project. She wanted every elf in the Alienage to help, or rather, she wanted them to want to help, and o not be secretly afraid she was using Tevinter-style blood magic, with the sacrifices and the demons. Tenth Hex was cautiously behind it as well, but the real problem, so far as Merrill was concerned, was a general ignorance about how the stone were truly going to work.

_:I'll have to find some way to educate my people about this matter.:_

There were too many elves in the Alienage to gather them all up together at once like she would have done in her old clan. She'd probably have to go Hex by Hex and present the information and answer questions and concerns.

 _:And even then, I don't wonder if I'm likely to keep ahead of rumors and wild speculation anyway,:_ she worried.

She had scheduled an appointment with all of the Keepers to discuss the matter at the end of the week, once her first set of tests and trials with her first set of magestones was finished.


	47. Chapter 47

His vision shifted to the washed-out grey of the half-fade then shifted again as the grey overwrote the riotous colors of the real world, causing a sort of double-vision as reality and sub-reality met. He gave the peculiar mental push and twist that activated his lyrium brands. He called a vision of the solid reality of the material world into his mind, focusing intently on every detail, then then mentally pushed outward again. Instead of a mind-blast radiating out from him, the world turned super-solid for a moment in his vision, the strange half-song that always hummed softly under his skin paused for an instant and all was perfectly still. Then the world resumed.

"Very well done," Cullen congratulated him. "You've become quite good at this,  and so quickly that I must admit to some jealousy."

Fenris nodded gravely in gratitude for the compliment.

"It was generous of you to offer further advice on my technique today, I know that your duties keep you busy." Fenris said with a small bow, signalling that he was prepared to take his leave.

"I find I do not have the opportunity to spar with a warrior of equal ability as often as I would like these days," Cullen replied easily. "Most of the other Templars with skills that match mine have either been promoted to a similar rank, or sent off to serve in other Circles. One can only find so much satisfaction in the training of others. Sometimes I wish for nothing more than an equal challenge."

A small, slightly wan smile accompanied those words, and for a moment Fenris glimpsed sight of a man with great responsibilities that weighed very heavily upon him.

"You should collect your pay for that mission you ran with us before you go," the Templar said. "Come, I'll show you to the quartermaster. I was headed that way anyway as my office is nearby."

"Again, thank-you," Fenris said politely.

Another man clad in Templar armor, moving what looked to Fenris to be quite a bit slower than a younger man might, walked up and saluted Cullen.

"Knight-Captain," the templar said with a short salute.

The voice from inside the depths of the ubiquitous Templar helmet did indeed sound older.

"Lieutenant Gran," Cullen acknowledged.

"I wish to inquire about the status of that formal protest I lodged with you the other week. The one about Lieutenant Aybee's treatment of his charges."

"Inquests take time, Lieutenant," Cullen said wearily. "And everyone knows that this isn't the first time you've protested some of the discipline--"

"Discipline is one thing ser, torture is another!" the Templar said hotly.

Cullen gave him a very cool look for his tone, frowning. The Templar, though Fenris could not see his face, very clearly look a moment to collect himself.

"Ser," he said with very obviously tried patience. "I would greatly appreciate it if you would see your way to expediting the investigation of Ser Aybee's... discipline and whatever excuses he's made up _this_ time to justify it."

"Noted, Lieutenant," Cullen said stiffly. "Dismissed."

The Templar saluted smartly, though Fenris could read tension in every line of his body. Cullen shook his head when the Templar left and led Fenris in through the Gallows proper.

"This place must be different than the Circles in Tevinter," Cullen said to pass the silence before it got awkward.

"Like night is to day," Fenris replied readily. "The term Circle there mostly means a place where mages study magic. They're academies, prestigious ones, and those with magical talent compete rigorously against one another to gain a seat in one... unless, of course, one's family member already has a seat in the magisterium, then money gains a young mage entrance. The Templars in Tevinter have no teeth, and I've never heard of a single one with the ability to cancel magic. It's nice to see mages being monitored appropriately for the dangers inherent in their abilities."

"A surprising sentiment, considering some of the company you keep," Cullen remarked.

"One cannot always choose one's friends friends," Fenris muttered. "And to that, perhaps there is something to be said about trying to change minds by reasonable debate."

Cullen made a doubtful grimace and a non-committal sound.

"I hope you will forgive me if I pry," Fenris said. "This is a bit of a pet argument with an associate of mine. Is there any truth to that Lieutenant's protest?"

Cullen took a moment to consider.

"One might start by considering the source," he said at last. "Here in the south, every Circle is a little different, their character and general outlook are usually defined by the culture that surrounds them, and by the individual outlooks of the Knight-Commanders and First Enchanters who run them. Lieutenant Gran was transferred over here from the White Spire in Montsimmard not very long ago."

Cullen paused significantly.

"He's _Orlesian_ ," he said as though that explained everything.

Fenris' blank look must have communicated that it did not explain anything, for the Knight-Captain continued.

"Being the main Circle Tower in the Empire, an empire that has it's own Imperial Court Enchanter no less, one would not be terribly surprised to learn that there is likely a certain amount of... laxness, with regard to the Chantry strictures placed on mages there."

Fenris nodded as his brow cleared in understanding.

"Sadly," Cullen added. "Lt. Gran's observations of the more rigid observance of the rules here in the Gallows has caused some tension in these halls. And not just on the part of the mages. Some of the younger Templars, those who haven't been out on many hunts and don't truly understand the real dangers of blood-magic, abominations, and demons have been questioning whether the stricter regimens espoused by our Knight-Commander are truly necessary."

"Stricter regimens?" Fenris questioned curiously.

"Over the protests of the First Enchanter, and the other Enchanters under him, we've instituted a set of strictures designed to enable us all to keep better track of our charges and to ensure their safety. There's a curfew, of course, and no mages or enchanters are allowed to entertain other mages in their quarters without Templar oversight, but that's just common sense. We've also split the senior and lesser enchanters into groups and allotted them certain times and days to use certain facilities and courtyard time is tolled by the bell. The apprentices are easier to keep track of naturally, for they all have classes."

Fenris and Cullen moved to one side as a line of mages walking two-by-two like Chantry schoolchildren all under the watchful eyes of a pair of Templars at the front and rear of the line essentially marched down the corridor. The older of the mages were glowering at the Templars, but the younger mages...

_:They look like... Tevinter elves. The one's the serve in the houses of strict Magisters.:_

Fenris recognized that look, the bowed heads, the hunched shoulders, the ever-so-quiet shuffle of feet. He _knew_ that look. He turned his head as a shiver of recognition crept up his spine.

"It's been much easier to keep discipline when we've been able to keep track of the mages," Cullen went on. "Sadly there are still mages who turn to the dark that get by us. As evidenced by last weeks blood-mage hunt. Which only makes it more apparent that the new ways are even more necessary than anyone had thought."

Cullen warmed to his subject secure in the thought that his argument fell upon sympathetic ears. At any other time he would have been right, but the sight of the cowed mages looking so eerily similar to equally cowed and beaten slaves he'd seen in Tevinter had shaken Fenris' usual hostility a little bit.

"If these young lads had seen what I've seen," Cullen went on. "They'd know for certain that mages are always in danger, and they are always dangerous!"

Fenris nodded in agreement with the sentiment mostly out of habit and forcefully dismissed his own unease as they continued on towards the Gallows quartermaster. Once there, they saw another Templar, this one without his helmet, resting slumped in a nearby chair, as though exhausted. He rose quickly to his feet when he saw his Knight-Captain and saluted smartly.

"At ease brother," Cullen said gently.

Fenris' gaze narrowed in on the fact that the Templar's hands were... shaking. Badly. In fact there was a slight tell-tale rattle in his armor that said that those shakes might be all over him.

"Ah, Lieutenant Sens, good to see you again... how have you been feeling lately?" Cullen queried with every evidence of concern and camaraderie.

"Just fine, Knight-Captain!" the older man said with a smile so bright that Fenris knew immediately that it was false. "I haven't needed a Healer in over a week, just ask anyone."

"Well good," Cullen said. "It'll be great to have you on the roster again, you're very good with training the younger recruits."

"Yes Ser, I'll look forward to it Ser," the older man said.

Though he appeared to move on smartly, Fenris eyes were trained to spot the least weakness, and he could sense the care the man moved with in the same way a wolf could spot the weakest of the herd.

"Poor man," Cullen said shaking his head when the Templar was out of earshot. "The lyrium's about done for him. He hides it well, but everyone can see that the poisons' eating his nerves."

Fenris looked a question at the Captain who shrugged helplessly.

"You've no-doubt seen Sampson about town? Consider him lucky. This is no job for old men. So long a time taking the draught and it takes it's toll. Of course it's an honor to serve the Chantry, and we're all proud of our service. But...it's not a job you retire from. It retires you."

Fenris was silent for a long moment chewing that over. He knew that Lyrium was poison in its natural form, and even the processed stuff was not without risk. Sampson had shown that the stuff was quite addictive but Fenris had never felt any of these things.

_:Not yet anyway,:_ he thought darkly.

Danarius _had_ to have done something to him to negate all of the effects of the substance that was grafted into his skin.

_:And if hunting blood mages has renewed it's effectiveness, then it must be something to do with magic,:_ he thought, another thought occurred to him.

"Ser Sens said that he visited the Healer..." Fenris said. "Does that eliminate the symptoms?"

"For a time," Cullen acknowledged. "But at that age and by that point, he's been taking the stuff for so long that by now he's living on borrowed time. In order to retain functionality, he'd need daily visits with a Healer to purge the stuff from his tissue, and the skill that that would take is beyond all but the best Healers in the Circle. Cleansing, from what I understand, is a slow and delicate process, one that does not take place over night."

"What will happen to Ser Sens?" Fenris asked curiously.

Cullen sighed a bit and shook his head.

"The Order doesn't turn away from our own, exactly, but everyone of us knows that service is for life. Once they can no longer serve... they're usually made as comfortable as possible to endure the Lingering."

Fenris didn't really need for Cullen to go into detail on a phase of life that they called the Lingering given all that he had said about what Lyrium did to a Templar's body over time.

"Some Circles send their oldest Templars into retirement outside the Tower," Cullen said. "But the Order knows that time or place don't make a difference. Not really. Commander Merideth has ordered that all of our Brothers should take comfort in one another and in the Maker when that time has come."

Cullen's tone said that he did not entirely agree with Meredith's decree.

"It would be a boon, I think, if we were allowed to see our families, one last time," he said softly.

The quartermaster handed Fenris his pay without any comment and Ser Cullen bid him farewell and a safe journey back to the city proper. Fenris had a number of matters to consider on his way back. He hadn't yet taken the plunge of actually hunting down a blood mage yet, though through his contacts in the underworld he knew of a number of them that were potentially dangerous that might make good targets if the Templars didn't beat him to it. It was clear he had to do _something_.


	48. Chapter 48

Merrill looked down at her hands and wondered how she'd gotten into this situation, or perhaps how this situation had gotten into her. The roof top garden that took up a little over half of the top of her clinic had been rearranged to make room for the Keepers Council, which, it seemed, had all been crammed into the Keeper-General's little house before that point, with barely enough room to sneeze. It was a full Keeper's Council, with the Keepers of all twelve hexes lined up facing each other and the Keeper-General at the head of the line commanding the proceedings.

When Merrill had requested to be able to speak with them about the next phase of the sanitation project, she had not expected a full Keepers Council to show up on her clinic's doorstep the very next night. She had most certainly not expected to be informed that, will-she or nil-she, Merrill would become the Keeper of the soon-to-be-reinstated Thirteenth Hex, once they had finished putting everything in order. They'd already had her new "First" (which was what they called those person's who were second-in-command of the Hex, rather than a Keeper's apprentice and heir) all picked out for her. She was an intimidatingly efficient-looking woman with spectacles, her hair pulled back into a bun, and a rather large clip-book cradled in her arms. It looked like bureaucracy probably trembled in fear of her. As it stood currently, the meeting was precisely that so far, a meeting, with all of the attendant minutiae involved. Right then, she was hearing a progress report on the sanitary movement she and the other Keepers were working on.

"...just finished building the last of the hex fountains with the specifications Keeper Merrill requested, so and as soon as we have enough water purified for them they will be able to be made operational, except for one matter... we've a difficulty about the water pressure, which I will now hand over to Keeper Leirran to discuss," Keeper Sulhan said wrapping up his own report on the restoration of the alienage-wide sanitation tunnels mined by their ancestors into the rock below them.

"Thank-you," Lierran said, looking as shakily nervous as he ever did. "Sadly, we've hit another small snag in the operation. We can sanitize the water, but the sanitation is no good if we've no way to _move_ it through the Alienage."

"Why would we need to move it?" Keeper Moira asked. "Just clean out the dirty water when it comes down the chute."

"It's a bit more complex than that, little Keeper," Lierran said with a small smile. "Water flowing down into the sanitizing tanks in Tenth does get purified, but then it must be brought back up to the surface in the hexes so that it can be used by the people, otherwise it's useless. The only way to do that is by forcing it up against the worlds downward pull by a pump. If the clean water doesn't get moved out of the way then the dirty water will just build up and run over."

"Think of it like the blood-flow paths in the body," Merrill chimed in. "You can have all the healthy blood in the world, but if you've no heart to move it through the body so that it can help where it's needed, it's no good to you."

"Keeper Sulhan's recreated pumps based on some Dwarven designs," Keeper Lierran added. "But the problem is that the original design uses heat from the depths of the deeproads to generate steam , and that steam makes the pumps function."

"We do have a solution however," Sulhana was quick to add. "Between the two of us, Keeper Lierran and I have come up with a way to use wind in the same manner as the dwarven steam mechanisms. We always have plenty of wind here off the coast."

Merrill looked in in interest and delight as Lierran brought out a miniaturized model of something that looked like a cross between a sail-boat's sail and a flower. Large triangular cuts of cloth were held out at angles from poles which radiated out from a large wheel attached to the side of a tall tower. The flower petal-sails spun a mechanism inside the wind-tower that in turn ran the pumps. They'd picked out several likely spots for the wind-towers along the tops of the cliffs and near the tiny Alienage harbor.

"We've tested out the models and done the math," Keeper Lierran said awkwardly. "It will work, it's just a matter of getting them built."

It was with very little fanfare that the plans to build the wind-towers and the sanitation pumps in order to bring the sanitation system fully online throughout the Alienage were worked out.

"I note," Keeper Risan of Tenth Hex said, looking on the maps at the proposed places that Sulhan and Lierran had chosen to place the wind-towers. "That you've chosen to place these towers of yours along the tops of the terraced cliffs, I assume then you have a reasoning for choosing that place instead of over nearer to the harbor."

"In time, once the cliff-side terraces have been fully excavated," Sulhan said with a nod to his closer associate in Third. "It will be necessary to irrigate the mud flats from time to time to ensure enough water for the crops on the higher levels. The towers will be able to pull double-duty, so it's the most sensible place to put them."

This then led to a query from the Keeper-General about the progress of the excavation of the cliff side terraces, which Keeper Lierran informed him were progressing, but slowly, and it appeared that, thanks to the new tower project taking away much of their trained manpower, it was going to slow down even further. Keeper Aluethi and Keeper Shunsui both offered to gather volunteers from their own hexes to add more man-power to the excavation so that Third and Ninth Hex could focus on getting those towers up faster.

"In the meantime," The Keeper-General said weightily. "Each of the Keepers of each Hex should set aside a day to gather their denizens in the courtyards under the vhenandhal to hear Keeper Merrill speak about the magestones and each adults future responsibility to the overall running of the new wate rsupply."

"But..." Merrill protested timidly. "I wanted _volunteers_... I don't want people doing it because they were ordered to."

"I assure you," Keeper Sunahana said, smiling with beatific gentleness at Merrill. "Our people know their duty to the Alienage and to each other. It will essentially amount to the same thing."

"Oh..." Merrill said, uncertainly.

Having only experience the interconnectedness of life in a small clan, and not knowing whether life in the Alienages were any different in that way, she bowed to Keeper Sunahana's superior wisdom on the matter.

"If you're certain, Keeper Sunahana," Merrill said. "I appreciate the chance to educate everyone on what the magestones truly are and how everyone can do their part to help this Alienage."

Sunahana beamed, Keeper Rinu beamed, the general assembly beamed, but Merril got the strangest feeling somehow that she had missed something.

_:I rather do wish Fenris were here,:_ Merrill thought to herself. _:He would have been able to know what it was.:_

Say whatever else she might about the crotchety elf, he was sharp when it came to people. Maybe a little too sharp though, Merrill thought that he spent so much time being wary and suspicious of people that he forgot to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Merrill was both relieved and taken aback to have the matter she'd looked with such trepidation about bringing up before all of the other Keepers handled so neatly and with such little fuss. She'd expected to have to work to persuade people and instead they'd simply taken it all in as a matter of course. Merrill waited patiently while the last few details for the round of "guest speakings" and demonstrations of how the magestones worked for each hex were put into place by the other Keepers. The meeting didn't end there however as the Keeper's Council had a few _other_ routine matters to attend to.

Keeper Moira complained that her Hex had not seen good wool or linen in longer than she cared to think about and that they needed more wood for a new loom. Keeper Shunsui wanted to know if it would be possible for Keeper Merrill to make even one emberstone before the turn of the season so that they could get some wares to market in time for the next trade-fair. Keeper Tetsu brought up again that the harbor was in bad need of massive repairs or soon even the shallowest of their fishing boats would be dry-docked permanently. Keeper Sunahana wished to mention that there were marriage-alliances from the other Alienages to consider, and it would be good to have a way to more reliably keep in touch with the families of the other Alienages. Keeper Yarune brought up, _again_ , that with the sanitation system soon to be in place, now was the perfect time to consider the building of the Alienage bath-house. Keeper Lierran wanted to discuss the condition of the streets in the Alienage now that there was a place for the water run-off to potentially drain into. He made a good case for it, "grey water" was by far, much easier to purify than water with actual bodily waste in it.

The Keeper-General heard all of their cases and prevented squabbling between the hexes over which need was more urgent, prioritizing the sanitation project including the construction of wind-towers, followed by the cliff-side terraces for growing food, and then possibly repairing the streets and then potentially looking at the re-construction the Alienage harbor as those were all things that benefited every elf in the Alienage as a whole.

Merrill looked on, deeply impressed and equally dismayed. It was becoming more and more clear to her that each of these projects that the Alienage had decided all at once to undertake each used her magic in a pivotal role in some sense.

_:So now it makes a great deal more sense why they put up that clinic and filled it with so much staff that I'm left standing among my flower pots twiddling my thumbs most of the time,:_ Merrill thought to herself. _:They want to all make certain I'm rested up enough to work on all of these other things they'd have me do as well. It looks like I may owe Fenris an apology... it seems he was right again.:_

It was a long list, every Hex, it seemed had some vital thing they wanted done or something that they required magic for; Fifth wanted cloth, Seventh wanted boats and a harbor, Eighth needed emberstones for their glass and pottery works... It was becoming a certainty that Merrill was going to have to start searching for a true-First (A First she could teach her skill with magic to) sooner, rather than later. If matters went as the other Keepers clearly had planned, she was going to need a mage whom she could train to take on what was becoming increasingly obvious to her was going to be the majority of the magical burden in the aleinage.

:Preferably an older First if I can somehow find one that has no teacher,: Merrill thought. _:That way, he or she will be able to take up their duties right away without having to grow up first. Though where I am to find such a one is anyone's guess. Maybe I should contact my clan about soliciting one of the other Clans for one of their Thirds if they'd be inclined to move to a city.:_

The meeting concluded with Merrill being informed of the rough schedule in which she would be expected to make her public appearances at each hex to tell them about the magestones. The meeting moved on to the preliminary planning for that years Summer Solstice Festival for the Alienage. It seemed that the Chantry, while they begrudgingly allowed elves to take part in Chnatry festivities, their allowance was begrudging and the elves resented that, so they generally held thier own private festivals in the Alieange. Each Hex in Kirkwalls alieange had thier own particular specialty and event that they held, from an elegant sword dueling tourney in Sixth called a "Flower War" to a drinking contest in Tenth to a obstacle race in Second. There were of course many different games and prizes to win, as well as several different Hexes that mostly held dances and sold food and drinks. It was an enormous, riotously fun affair and Merrill felt a thrill of anticipation when she heard of it. She immediately wanted to try it out with everyone else as it sounded like so much fun!

Then Keeper Rinu suggested that since the annual Alienage's Summer Solstice Festival was coming up, they should incorporate the very first activation of the fresh water fountains with the Summer Festival along with the official reinstatement of Thirteenth Hex. The idea was seized upon with every apparent delight and enthusiasm (particularly by Sunahana of Fourth and Moira of Fifth, mostly, it seemed, as an excuse to hold an enormous to-do about it). They started with the idea of a small procession and it very quickly snowballed from there and grew to involve costumes, musical performances, an opening ceremony as she handed out the very first batch of magestones. Merrill's opinion was not asked for, nor, it seemed, was it required. 

_:I hadn't really intended to make any sort of production about putting the fountains online, but I suppose if it will make everyone happy, they can just as well celebrate over it,:_ Merrill thought with an inward shrug.

It wasn't as though _she_ were going to be much involved beyond simply putting the last parts of the system in place.


	49. Chapter 49

: _How is it that I let him talk me into these misadventures, I shall never know_ ,: Fenris mused to himself.

Hawke was at it again. This time it was a varghest hunt in the Vimmark mountains.

: _And not just any varghest hunt, oh **no** ,_: Fenris thought to himself. _:That would be too easy for him. He's been set on a varghest that supposedly been turned into an abomination!:_

A collection of nobles had heard, through their contacts in the rangers, that there was a powerful beast that had haunted the mountains for generations. Apparently this supposed beast had been content to haunt the mountains until very recently where it had descended down into a valley and terrorized a small village for three nights running This small village sent to their nearest town with guard barracks, who had been utterly defeated by the creature. The guards that were left traveled to Kirkwall to call for the help of the local lord, but, as Kirkwall had no Viscount, the Champion of Kirkwall took up the banner instead.

There was a slight complication however. The local young nobles (and the city council) had grown up with stories of the Haunt of Mount Telgarn, and it had been declared that if anyone could defeat the legendary monster, then it only made sense for that person to be the new viscount.

: _The hunt is on indeed_ ,: Fenris thought, looking about him with thinly veiled disdain.

Overnight the spooky forest of the terrain near the particular hill in the Vimmark Mountains where the abomination-beast was said to have made its new lair had been turned from a desolate spot in the middle of the howling wilderness to what rather closely resembled a fair-grounds at the height of festival season! Every noble family with aspirations to the seat of the Viscount (in short, all of them!) had sent one of their heirs along with their best hunters to throw themselves at the creature in the hopes of gaining the ruler-ship of Kirkwall. Sadly, instead multiple parties of highly-trained battle-hardened hunter-warriors set on bringing down a foul and corrupt beast of legend, what they all got was a race for the throne.

_:This isn't going to go well..._ : Fenris thought, looking around him.

The clearing was _filled_ with nobles, and while some of them clearly had some experience with hunting, it was all more of the sort that involved chasing down deer, or the occasional boar, for sport. They treated it as an extension of their petty little power-games and internecine squabbling that always went on within the nobility of Kirkwall. The camps were less home-bases from which they would plan their campaign to bring down the fell beast of the Vimmark Mountains and more like little cloth palaces to show off to their brethren that they were better, wealthier and more equipped than the others.

_:Like a dress in the latest fashion, or a set of particularly fancy shoes, or a matched set of horses and a new carriage,_ : Fenris thought with a sneer. _:Maker save me, I hope the beast eats **them** first!:_

Like their little cloth palaces, the gear that many of the young nobles had chosen to bring along to help them slay the beast was more ornamental than useful. A lot of it frothed with gold or silver fittings, much of the wood on the bows was still green, the swords had clearly been chosen for their looks and not their utility, and the spears were all more like poles to hold aloft the family banner than they were weapons to slay a real threat with. They'd all been mostly chosen because it was the sort of thing a young, fanciful nobleman or noblewoman _thought_ that a hero had used in one of their legends of old.

_:To be certain, I'm sure a large number of the families here represented sent their **least** sensible and **most** expendable heirs on this hunt,_ : he thought cynically.

Said heirs had probably also been sent along with the best hunters that their money could purchase. If, above all odds, said heir was successful (or rather, the huntsman sent along with said heir was successful) then the family had a nice, brainless, spineless new viscount to manipulate, a puppet for the throne. If they were killed in the hunt, well, the family hadn't lost much. Oh, there were noble families who were genuine in their wish to slay the beast, and had truly sent their best warrior to the quest, but....

_:Even those ones are playing this as much for the chance at the seat of the Viscount as they are out of any desire to slay a legendary beast._ :

"...and then, there's Hawke," Varric said with his customary wryness, clearly reading Fenris' mind in that way he had.

It was only natural to assume that the storyteller would come along for perhaps one of the greatest stories yet! Varric unashamedly had threatened to call in every debt that Hawke owed him if he wasn't allowed his place in the party.

"I have terrible visions of this place being turned into one large feeding ground once the sun goes down," Varric said, shaking his head. "It's not gonna be pretty."

"You warned them," Fenris said. "I warned them. Hawke warned them. If they refuse to listen, and want to gather and preen themselves in front of one another like foolish peacocks, there's nothing that can be done about it."

Fenris' Tevinter fugitive instincts had located a tiny clearing halfway up the mountain to make camp in. It was less comfortable by far than the valley that all of the nobles had chosen to inhabit, but it was more defensible. It was surrounded by stone, cleared mostly of small brush that anything could hide in, offered an unobstructed veiw of the valley below, and it had only one entrance and one exit. If that meant that they had to fetch and carry their camp water half-way up the mountain, then as far as Fenris was concerned, it was a small price to pay for living through the night.

"Hey Hawke!" One of the nobles called over with mocking joviality. "Nice buckets you have there, did you leave your servants behind?"

_:Of course he did, you moron!:_ Fenris thought with a small pang of pity for the nervous knot of elven servants that had clearly been dragged along on this stupid hunt by their careless, senseless masters.

_:Because heaven forfend that the young master should not have his slippers warmed for him,:_ Fenris thought sarcastically.

He hoped the creature wouldn't attack that valley that night, in that case. There were far too many stupid and feckless nobles who'd brought along their servants. Their elven servants, who hadn't been able to refuse. It would be a shame to see them all killed for one person's stupidity and sense of vainglory. That was the way things worked in Tevinter.

Hawkes hunting party was a little bigger than usual. Beasts of legend, he was sure, didn't just kill themselves. Along with Varric and Fenris, Hawke had chosen to bring along Aveline, Anders, Isabella and Sebastian. It was the largest party he'd ever done anything with to date, except perhaps, to play Wicked Grace with. Anders was hunched by the fire being gloomily fussy about leaving his clinic, Isabella was lounged against a log with a bottle of wine in her hand subtly trying to get a rise out of Aveline (as usual), and Sebastian was cheerfully pleased with the fact that they were going to get to do the work of the Maker by ridding the world of more evil. Varric was taking notes for his story.

"Are you sure about those... _things_ that Merrill sent with us, Varric?" Sebastian said dubiously eying where the dwarf was currently making their meal in a fancy collapsible dwarven cook-pot.

Instead of a fire, Merrill, since she was not essentially tied to her clinic and unable to come (much to her longing-eyed disappointment) had sent along some ancient elven re-creation she'd come up with that she called "emberstones" that were supposed to heat things up without the need of a proper fire. They were witchcraft of course, but for even Fenris had to admit that he didn't mind the magic as much when he benefitted from it directly. He'd spent many a cold, wet night on the run without a fire for fear that the light and the smoke that it produced would give his position away and bring his pursuers right to him while he slept.

"Do I look like an expert on magical things?" Varric replied. "If you don't want to use them that's fine, but don't complain if your trail rations are hard and inedible."

Trying to eat the dried meat they'd brought with them without at least softening it a little might well have been impossible as it was hard as a stone without proper steeping. It came in a packet with herbs and dried oats and was meant to be made into a thick stew. Eating it raw might just crack a tooth.

"The witch-stones she gave us are safe enough, my friend," Fenris admitted grudgingly. "I've witnessed other elves in the alienage using them recently i place of fires that burn fuel."

The emberstones that the witch had sent along with them were brick-sized ovaloid rocks with a dull metallic sheen in them that glistened iridescently in the light like mother of pearl. Within the iridescence were strange patterns in soft blue-white. It came as a set, each one half of the other, and there was a small hollow in the center of the rock. One joined the halves together and placed a charged "magestone" in the hollow in the center. They hummed a bit then slowly began to heat up to the temperature of hot cooking coals. It was fire without all of the woodsmoke!

_:A fine gift,:_ Fenris admitted to himself with painful reluctance that was not at all a small stab of envy for the present that the witch had given to Hawke. _:Especially since the beast we are all likely to be hunting come morning has made the connection between the scent of smoke and the presence of people, and it now thinks of people as a food source.:_

"So... what do you think my chances are?" Hawke asked lightly of the group as they sat round the pile of emberstones underneath the stew-pot, toes pointed toward it to warm their boots. "You lot could soon be calling my Your Grace, what do you think?"

"I think that I will still call you Hawke and remind you of the time you thought that nest of baby spiders was a shortcut," Aveline replied readily.

"You're never going to let me live that down are you?" Hawke asked dryly.

"Not if you get knighted by the King of Fereldan himself," she said.

"Killing an abominated varghest could just put me on the shortlist for knighthood," Hawke joked. "Then I would be _Ser_ , Your Grace, the Champion of Kirkwall."

"I can't imagine shouting that one out in the middle of things," Isabella said consideringly. "But I'll still let you call me queen."

Hawke reddened a bit and winked at her with a slight leer that she returned with a speculative gleam in her eye. They were like rabbits, those two.

"It is not earthly fame that matters in this world, brother," Sebastian corrected him. "It is the work we all do for the glory of the Maker that guarantees us rest eternal at His side."

Isabella rolled her eyes.

"Sure, that too," Hawke said agreeably just as Anders added

"And I suppose some of that precious glory involves locking away and subjugating the mages for the supposed good of a society that hates and fears them."

"The will of the Maker is that magic be made to serve, and the Chantry is the expression of His will," Sebastian replied.

"The Chantry," Anders said. "Is stuffed full of hypocrites and power-mongers hiding behind a thin guise of piety. The Templars have forgotten half the Chant, particularly the parts about mercy, love, kindness, compassion and free will. If a person is not given an option to choose to wield their gifts responsibly and is instead forced to do so in a way that leaves no room for growth, then _that_ directly flouts the will of the Maker. Andraste Herself said that all those who will join Him at His side are those who have accepted His way and His light of their _own_ free will. Corrupt are those who take His name for their own ends."

"Oh great," Isabella muttered. "They're at it again."

"I don't have time for sermons before bed, especially when I've got sinning to do while in it boys," Hawke said. "Sebastian you've got first watch, Anders, you're on second, Fenris third, Aveine, fourth, Varric, wake me when the sun comes up."

That rather effectively put an end to the continual debate and Hawke and Isabella retired to their tent for...

_:Well, they probably won't be sleeping,_ : Fenris thought, shaking his head.

The rest of the camp set out their own sleep rolls and tidied up the remains of their meal so that the creatures would not come to investigate them in the night. Fenris slept better with his friends around him, and thought to himself as he drifted off to wake for third watch that it would not be so bad a thing if, someday, he might take up with someone... for _safety_ of course.

The night passed mostly quietly. The Tevinter elf slept lightly by long habit, and so stirred a bit when the first watch switched out for the second. He wasn't so very comfortable with the thought of the abomination watching for trouble, but at the same time he knew that the Spirit inside of the Healing mage never went to sleep.

Fenris wasn't certain what had woken him, but his senses suddenly pulled him from his customary light sleep into full, battle-ready wakefulness in the blink of an eye.

"Wake-up!" Anders called an instant later. "Everyone up!"

Bodies started awake or poured out from the tents at Anders' alarm weapons ready. They searched around for the source of the threat, but instead of fending off an attack, Anders pointed out toward the valley below them.

"Look there," he said.

They looked on in dismay at the valley dotted with campfires and still lit by lanterns and the distant sound of music and laughter and celebration. Into this valley slunk a long, large sinuous form. The feathery scales gleamed iridescently in the moonlight, and the long whippy tail knocked over tents and scattered the coals of the fires to devastating effect. Warriors and hunters, nominally there to hunt the creature became entangled in their own collapsed tents like fish in a net and the creature fell upon the moving lumps like a housecat upon movement under a blanket, clobbering and crushing the forms within.

The embers from the fire scattered by the sweeping lashes of its scaly tail fell upon cloth and oil and wood of the camps nearby and they soon caught on fire, quickly creating a smokescreen. Added to this chaos were the animals picketed nearby, who, upon smelling the smoke and the fearful form of an enormous predator, broke their pickets and ran, bolting in any direction, sometimes dragging three branches along behind them to rake through the coals of other fires and scatter more ashes.

Some of the warrior-nobles and the better-trained hunters saw the beast attacking and rallied, taking the opportunity to hopefully bring it down. They weaponed-up, brought out their shields and a number of them charged at the front keeping its attention by poking its face with long pikes to keep it angry, while two other parties worked their way around the sides to attack its (supposedly) vulnerable flanks.

_:I suppose they may not need us after all,:_ Feris thought, admiring the way they competing factions had decided to work together to bring down the beast.

It wouldn't last of course. Once it was dead, every faction involved would say that _they_ were the ones that had made the killing blow and the situation would deteriorate from there, perhaps ino a small war because the stakes were high. But Fenris supposed that the city wouldn't be any worse off than it was right then, save that there would be a few less over-privilaged nobles to leech off the city taxes.

The abominable varghest suddenly reared up, revealing that its form was easily _three times_ the size of one of its normal-sized kind. It wasn't as big as a full sized high dragon, but it was certainly larger than a drake or even a bronto. In length it was probably abut two and a half adult varghests put end to end, and it seemed bulkier with its feathers gleaming like scales in the moonlight. The beast shrugged off the various pokes and jabs of ordinary weapons as though it didn't even notice them beyond mild annoyance.

"What's it doing?" Isabella wondered nervously.

The varghest, reared up on its hind legs, began to make a strange sort of call deep in its throat, not quite a shriek but close, it was more resonant. The air, even so far away felt like it vibrated. It called twice more and Fenris markings twinged slightly with each one, resonating with some unknown magic the creature possessed. The creature then landed back down on all fours with a thump that sent out a small shockwave that took the attackers at its flanks by surprise, knocking them off their feet for a moment.

"I've got a bad feeling," Aveline said.

Her bad feeling was proven correct a moment later when the varghest reared its head back on its long neck and, much to the shock of all present, roared out a long, rushing gout of misty-blue flame that incinerated instantly everything in its path, melting skin an armor into a horiffic sludge that oozed upon the ground where-ever the mist-fire touched. The night was lit by strange little balls of blue flame that floated off from its roar like sparks from a fire and hung in the air seeming to feed upon nothing. Which gave them all a perfect veiw of the next horror to go wrong.

The ground beneath the boots of the fighters still left standing and the collapsed tents began to shift and move in a familiar way. The varghest gave another of its weirdly resonant calls and the ground began to move in earnest.

"Wraiths," Fenris muttered in disgust. "Why is it always wraiths?"

When all of this was over, he swore he was going to frog march the Grand Cleric Elthina and every last one of her Chantry Sisters out into the mountains to consecrate the ground and banish all of the evil spirits that were still lurking around from the war two-thousand years ago.

The wraiths gathered up from the ground, formed ranks like the professional soldiers they all had been, and slammed into the fighters and hunters attacking the varghest. Their swords and spears might have been rusted and all but rotted away but they didn't particularly need them to be a threat, all they had to be was what they were; merciless, ruthless, tireless. They couldn't be stopped save by utter dismemberment (and even then chances were good that they'd reassemble themselves) they didn't tire, and they wouldn't stop attacking if they were wounded. With every call the varghest made, more undead soldiers joined the ranks defending the abomination beast.

"Well, that's... something I haven't seen before," Varric said quietly. "Hawke, you sure can pick 'em. As though a skin-melting dragon-sized varghest wasn't enough let's add in a horse of undead wraiths for fun. Why not?"


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place shortly before Fenris, Hawke and all of the others head out the others head out to the Vinmark Mountains to slay an abominable varghest.

_:I'm a bit disappointed I don't get to go along, but I suppose I do understand the decision...:_ Merrill thought a bit wistfully of the upcoming hunting trip that she'd been relucatntly excluded from. _:There's a nervous pregnant mother here in the alieange that needs me more than a hunting party that already has a very skilled Healer with them. Besides, it should be good for Anders to get out and do things, I worry about him in the clinic all alone with Justice all of the time. it seems to be taking it's toll, and...:_

The Dalish, now city-elf, she supposed, but she was still very much Dalish in her heart, dismissed her woolgathering. Hawke would surely notice about Anders, had probably _already_ noticed and was acting  in his own way to bring her dear former teacher out of himself a bit.

_:For now, there's enough troubles in the Alienage here for me to deal with, without borrowing any more.:_

Shortly after the windmills for the sanitation system were brought online and tested for soundness, they were put to use in aiding the restoration project on the last of the growing terraces that ringed around the edges of the Alienage. Since the added strength of the windmills greatly sped up the time it took to move the heavy materials like rock, sand and gravel about, the project, which had taken moths up until then, was finished in less than a week. Keeper Lierran borrowed Merrill for a day to seal the stone lining the terraces with magic to prevent leaking. After they were pronounced ready, another, very important Keeper's Council was held to discuss how the terraces would be utilized, among other business that had cropped up.

Merrill hadn't realized it, since she was kept pretty much cooped up in her clinic most days, but there was actually some debate over how the food terraces would be utilized. As each Hex in the Alienage in general had their specializations, like Fifth wove cloth, and Seventh on the coast was devoted to fishing, and Eighth specialized in glass and pottery, there were many that felt that the tradition should continue, and that one Hex should be singled out to be in charge of the food terraces. However, that feeling was far from universal. Just as many felt that each hex should have assigned their own sets of food terraces for them to tend and reap the harvests from, and that they should have their own granaries to store their food in inside their own hexes where they could dispense it.

Food, and how it was managed, was always a very big concern for the elves, seeing as so many of them, despite all of their best efforts, knew hunger and a number of them were on the edge of starvation with such lack to go around. Since the Chantry did not seem to feel that it was their responsibility to help alleviate such hunger (no mater what Sebastian said about it!) the elves knew it was going to come down to them to do the work. The terraces represented the hope and opportunity that they might never go hungry again. It was foremost on every hungry elf's mind then, that they should all have a fair share of the harvest and that they should all be certain of their fair share, so naturally fears and emotions were running high about it. There had been some fights already, which Merrill had tended the effects of. She knew that everyone was privately a little nervous then that their hex might somehow be left out when it came time to collect the bounty of their harvest.

Ever since Merrill had seen for herself that the terraces would soon be ready to support crops, she had diligently been putting a large portion of her skills as a Keeper-trained Nature Mage of the Dalish to use. The Dalish were in general among the most skilled of nature Mages, mostly because they spent so much of their time _in_ nature. In addition, they had managed to research and revive a large number of lost techniques that their ancestors had used; chief among these skills was the knowledge of the codex within the reproductive units of living things that passed their traits on to the next generation. While they did not believe in meddling with the blood-codices of animals or other elves, they had no such compunctions against manipulating the growth of plants. The Dalish were grandmasters at combining and recombining the codices of different strains of similar crops to reach a desired effect. In fact, they were so good, that they could the traits of two different crops and graft them together, or use magic to transfer one set of traits to another set through their seeds, and once that set of crops was grown, they would raise more generations of the same, or combine part of the harvest with another set of seedlings to add another set of desired traits.

The Dalish had trees that could grow different fruits, a plant that grew both fruit and super-nutritious tubers at the root, a plant that had been modified to replenish the soil after a harvest, several crops that grew in a third of the time that an ordinary crop of its type might, crops that were naturally resistant to disease and pest infestation and other very desirable things. There were whole scrolls of plant "recipes" of Dalish crops that were passed down from Keeper to First among the Clans for such wondrous crops. There were even several sets of recipes for crops that had been designed to grow inter-cropped together, one set nourishing and protecting the other which in turn provided some needed benefit so that there was no wasted space at harvest.

Ever since Merrill had heard that the terraces would be due to come online she had been busy on her rooftop garden, ordering seeds and seedlings to grow into the Dalish crops her Keeper had taught to her for feeding her clan quickly and on a large scale. She had also been "advising" the soil content for the terraces as they were being filled with humus and mulch by a diligent Third Hex. She now had the first crop of seedlings ready to plant crammed into every available space on her rooftop garden and down in the small courtyard below.

Keeper-General Yama began the meeting by the announcement that the food terraces were ready to come online and opened up the floor to discussion about how they would best proceed. Keeper Asuya Aluetheli, usually so cool and distant, stepped forward to seize the floor.

"It is the most sensible course that every hex should sow and reap and store their own crops," he said. "It is through work and labor that we come to value what should be valued. If one Hex is responsible for feeding the Alienage, then that encourages sloth and dependence on the part of the other Hexes to the plentiful food. What is achieved to easily is valued not at all."

"Well said," Spy-Keeper Soilana said firmly in agreement and there were nods of agreement from many of the other Keepers as well. However the opinion was not universal and Keeper Moira of Fifth stepped forward.

"The value of the terraces and the food they grow is not being contended," she said firmly in her piping child's voice. "Or rather, everyone here knows that they're valuable to the whole Alienage. One potential problem that Keeper Aluetheli left out is the problem of _knowledge_. If the Hexes are left to tend their own, there will almost inevitably be those Hexes that lack the knowledge and the skill to grow a crop, and if that happens the other Hexes will be burdened with making up the lack. It is more sensible that one Hex should handle the whole matter."

There were nods of agreement from many of the Keepers to the young Keeper's excellent point. But Keeper Soilana stepped forward next.

"Keeper Moira makes half of the matter clearly for me," Soilana added, piercing gaze looking around her. "If one Hex is allowed to maintain control over the primary food supply, then it will cause nervousness and unrest among the other Hexes, distrust will grow and fractionalization shall occur. While we are a cooperative people on many things, when it comes to a basic need, fear and mistrust are the inevitable results. With each Hex controlling their own food supply, and each storing their supply nearby, every Hex can be assured of their own fair share and there will be no fear or mistrust."

Merrill began to notice that only certain other Keepers were nodding in agreement with Soilana's statements, namely the Keepers of Sixth, Fourth,Ninth, Eighth, and Tenth seemed to think that the idea of each Hex tending their own terraces and storing the harvests in their own granaries was a good one.

"Mistrust is not inevitable," the rather large and swarthy (for an elf) Keeper of Seventh protested. "My hex by the sea brings in what catch we may after we've had much of it excised by the Shem to pay their ridiculous fees, and the remains, while contested, are certainly shared around as much as can be done. My lads bring an equal portion of their fish to each hex, and while there's never quite enough to go around... there is at least some. This nonsense of fear and mistrust is just that. Our Alienage survives because we all pull together!"

His firm statement was met with nods and approval. Merrill was starting to feel a bit confused.

_:I really don't see what the issue is here,:_ she thought to herself in puzzlement.

She hadn't been growing her first crop of seedlings with the thought of dividing them up, she had figured that things would work like they did among the Dalish, but she'd forgotten that city elves were weird sometimes in the way they saw things.

"But then," Eighth said, stepping forward to take the floor. "There is a slight difference. You say, Keeper Tetsu of Seventh, that the Shem confiscate most of your catch to cover the fees they put on you but the same will not be true of the excess grain and produce from the harvests. Eventually our granaries will grow full and the pinch of hunger will ease, then we will have a large margin of excess growth to sell. Any Hex growing food that has extra after setting aside a portion to be stored in a granary against hunger can sell it, conceivably at a reasonable price, at the market. The profit from excess harvest might not be very great on a large scale, but it will surely be greater that what we have known until now. If one hex is in control of that profit margin, that Hex stands to grow relatively well off from it as the resource is conceivably renewable."

"There is no reason," Keeper Yarune of Twelfth Hex said, stepping forward. "That the money from excess crops sold for profit at market must go to a single hex. If the need for the food is universal, then the profits too might be spent universally, perhaps on public works or the like, such as roads or other projects. Besides this, not every Hex will have the extra time or manpower to spend on tending crops, or will know how to go about it even if they do. You don't just pop a seed in the ground, pour some water on it, and think you'll get any reasonable amount hrvest in a few days, as I am an avid gardener I should know this well. There's a great deal more to it than that, knowledge of soil, drainage, and planting tables, and water and trace minerals are all part of knowledgeable, successful farming."

"Knowledge can be learned," Keeper Sulhan of Ninth argued. "Success can be made. What you cannot give someone is the pride of having tended and worked something from nothing with his or her own hands. If one Hex takes control of the growing of crops, all of the other Hexes loose the feeling of accomplishment that comes from tending their food and watching it grow up from the ground, knowing that someday it will be on their tables."

"They wont have anything on their tables if they kill their harvest through ignorance my friend," Keeper Lierran of Third replied, unusually taking the side against his good friend from Ninth. "A dead harvest due to ineptitude or ignorance will mean hungry bellies."

_:Why is this even a debate?:_ Merrill wondered to herself, looking around in confusion. _:I don't get it.:_

"A single hex controlling all of the food and the profits thereof will mean riots down the way, mark me," Soilana rebutted quellingly as though the other side were being blind and naive.

"Not if every Hex gets a fair share," Keeper Moira argued.

"It's not about the share apparent," Keeper Aluetheli rejoined. "If one Hex controls the harvest the others will be certain that they're holding the best in reserve and that will not make for comfortable relations in the future."

"Very well then," Keeper Yama harumphd to silence the growing debate before it became an argument. "It seems as though every Hex has had their say and made what point their people wish them to make. It seems that we must vote on the matter in order to settle it."

The Keepers nodded, some begrudgingly. Merrill looked around, still perplexed. It seemed that they hadn't really solved anything! What was all this nonsense?

"Those in favor of a single specialized Hex being put to growing the harvest and storing it in a single granary for everyone step forward."

The Keepers of First, Third, Fifth, Seventh, Eleventh and Twelfth all stepped forward. Keepers Yama, Yarune and Lierran felt that it was the natural way of the Alienage to Hex-specialize and then work cooperatively. Moira, Keeper of a Hex that specialized in a highly skilled trade, feared that a good deal would be lost though ignorance and mismanagement. Keeper Kenin of Eleventh probably just didn't want to have to do the ignominious work of farming himself when he and his thugs could be out drinking and fighting one another.

"Those in favor of each hex managing their own farming endeavors and reaping the benefits and losses thereof, step forward."

The Keepers of Sixth, Second, Fourth, Eighth, Ninth, and Tenth stepped forward. Keeper Soilana seemed to be focused, as always, upon the security aspect of things, she knew that is fear and mistrust were allowed to grow due to one Hex controlling such an important resource, there would come a perceived imbalance an power-shift in favor of that Hex and the perceived imbalance would lead to trouble. Keeper Aluetheli, Sulhan, Risan all felt that no Hex should go without the pride and security that came with growing their own food. Keeper Shunsui worried over the mercantile aspect and the possibility of one Hex growing too much money over the other Hexes.

"Hn," Keeper Old Yama of First Hex grunted after the head count was taken. "As I feared, right down the middle."

All of the Keepers heads turned to look straight at Merrill and she stared back at them with a "mouse in the gaze of a snake" look, frozen and wondering what they all wanted from her. She disliked being put on the spot.

"Y-Yes?" she asked hesitantly.

"Keeper Merrill of Thirteenth," Keeper Yama said ponderously. "You have not cast your vote in this."

Merrill blinked at him, still perplexed as to why they were even debating over this _at all_.

"No abstentions," the Keeper-General added, with a sharp look. "We are divided and it is your vote that will settle the matter."

Merrill just frowned a bit, still utterly confused.

"I don't really see why we're all here talking about this at all," she said honestly.

"You've heard the arguments," Aluetheli said loftily in that way of his. "Surely you have some feelings on the matter."

"Well, I suppose, naturally I would," she said, a bit hesitantly. "But the arguments back and forth don't seem like issues to me, that's all."

"Oh?" the Keeper of Sixth said, sounding just a touch condescending. "I suppose you have another solution then? Keep in mind, Keeper, that this is not your little sheltered Clan in the woods. We've many _more_ people to think of than your little Dalish group, and thus much more concerns to weigh upon us all."

Merrill put up with quite enough condescension from Fenris when he'd a mind to be a bit of a trial about things, _and_ she was Keeper of her Hex dammit! Her Keeper had trained her to find compromises and solutions that would settle matters for the Clan as a whole, not just rule one over the other with a higher number! That was just plain silly talk so far as she was concerned. That left fully half of the people involved in that matter without something that would make them feel like they and their concerns mattered. In a clan, everyone mattered!

The former First straightened her spine, pulled up every inch of courage, even reached a little down the link she shared with Fenris and borrowed a little of his ability to look people straight in the eye and tell them precisely what he thought. She heard a small (and condescending) bit of amusement that she was calling on him to help her with such a simple task echo down the link from whatever he was doing that she'd distracted him from. Merrill, for all of her former training to be Keeper, was simply not good with people. She felt a bemused feeling of "very well then, straighten your spine and act like their equal if that's what it will take to make them hear you" echoing back from Fenris, wherever out in the city he was, though the sentiment had an edge of 'oh look the sheltered little Dalish is trying to stand up, how cute.'

: _Fine,_ : she thought in growing annoyance, part of her was still a bit miffed that Fenris and Anders both had been invited on the Varghest hunt taking place next week and she had been left out! _:I'll show you!:_

"I don't see what you're all arguing about, as the solution is very plain to me," she said firmly, imitating the tome of her Keeper Marethari at her most Keeperly. "The whole Alienage works together like a clan made of many clans, every Hex has its own role to play in maintaining the Alienage, and all of the Keepers look out for the health and safety of their own little clan. It would be a simple matter to put one hex in charge of maintaining the terraces and keeping the knowledge of how to grow and harvest the crops properly."

"So you're in favor of one Hex, then," Moira interjected, and Merrill shot the child a quelling look of her own for interrupting.

"But the other side is right in that no clan can appreciate the pride and work of growing their food that is not involved in it," she went on.

"So then you favor each hex having their own," Keeper Sulhan said and Merrill shot him the same look Keeper Marethari had given her when she rushed to conclusions.

"I'm saying that I think it's strange you all think that they're mutually exclusive," she replied. "Naturally in a clan everyone works together, but also, everyone looks to the Hahren with the most knowledge of that craft for guidance, it's only sensible after all. If I want to make my own ironwood staff, I don't presume I have all of the knowledge of how to do so simply because I watched one afternoon of work from Master Ilen. The terraces are made to feed everyone, but if harvests fail due to ignorance then one goes hungry while others more knowledgable eat and that's _not_ how one tends the clan! You do not eat while your clanmate goes hungry!"

Merrill was a bit appalled they'd even suggest it, and it was clearly her place to put them in the right again.

"It is a simple matter," she went on. "Make one Hex in charge of _managing_ the terraces, but... make all hexes in charge of _manning_ them. Every hex chooses some from among thier number, anyone they can spare should be fine and they go up to the terraces to do the work of farming while specialists from the Hex in charge of the terraces teaches and guides them to make certain the work is done properly so that all can share in a good harvest. Everyone contributes. Every Hex who has a stake in things, puts those they feel would be best suited to farming, or draws the short straw, whichever, into the direction of the Hex chosen to be put in charge of the crops. Everyone grows them, everyone tends them, and everyone enjoys the food."

"How can every Hex be certain they receive their fair share of it then?" Soilana argued. "I've not the manpower to deal with food riots over graft."

Merrill just looked at her in exasperation.

"Well why else do each of you come to these Council Meetings in the first place?" she asked. "Surely your Hexes all trust in each of their Keepers to look out for their interests. I'm sure each of you knows the population of your own hex down to the last babe in arms, surely you're all capable of a counting heads in order to fill bellies. The food stored in granaries can be portioned out, just like my Clan does in winter to get through a thin year. And as a side note, speaking strictly from a mage's standpoint... a single, well-built granary is really the best option here. The spells to keep out pests and ward off rot are very delicate, they take a lot of skill to cast and almost as much to keep up, you'd wear a mage out running thither and yon putting up new preservation spells on every single hex in the Alienage, there are thirteen of them you know!"

Some of the Keepers winced as they had not thought of that particular complication.

"What about the excess harvest?" Shunsui argued.

"Well, there's plenty of things the alieange as a whole needs and wants, you've all certainly a long list," Merrill pointed out. "Put it toward things that everyone benefits from. There, you see? Everyone puts in, and everyone takes out. That's not hard, is it?"

The Keepers all looked unanimously chagrined at having such a simple, obvious solution spelled out to them as though they were small children, and with some coughs and throat clearing the details were calmly discussed. Twelfth Hex, who had no particular function to the Alieange as a whole but whose Keeper was a knowledgeable gardener, was put in charge of maintaining the terraces and organizing the work-crews that the other Hexes would send to them to plant and tend and reap the harvests. Merrill could then at last move on to the part of the meeting that she'd been looking forward to from the beginning, showcasing the crops she'd prepared for the terraces.

Her First had laid out a selection of the crops she'd modified for the Alienage to use. The first set was an intercrop of three distinct plants made to work together; a nourishing yanna plant to make a fine green-mulch between harvests, a pomato plant that grew both enormous bulbous vegetables on the vine and huge, nutritious tubers at its roots. Then she proudly displayed several different types of rice; a short-stemmed variety with deep roots that regenerated its grain sheaves and was meant to be reharvested throughout a longer season, a taller purple-grained variety that grew in a third the time of even regular rice and could be replanted throughout the season for several harvests, a golden grained variety of rice (with a partner-plant) that had been modified to supply the nutrients that Merrill, as a physician, had noticed her people were lacking, such as vitamin A. There were other strains of rice too, but they were mostly variants on these three types, mostly for diversity so that if one strain should fail there was no danger of loosing everything, and they were all made to be resistant to common pests and diseases.

They questioned, of course, why she'd chosen rice and not a staple grain like wheat, but Merrill replied that wheat required too much room to grow, it sapped the soil too quickly, the yield was less than a good strain of rice... and terraces were best suited to mud-farming as it was easier to replenish the nutrient supply. The windmills could keep the crops irrigated properly once she put desalinization spells in the pumps. All in all, rice would more easily feed the Alieange and it was easier to cook too, without all that grinding up to prepare it for bread. She had common vegetables and some fruits too for some of the terraces, mostly of the modified varieties her Dalish Keeper had passed on to her, but the majority of the terraces she advised to spend on healthy staples first.

Her "Dalish Plants" were met with enthusiasm from Keeper Yarune, who was a bit of meddler himself (though he did it the old fashioned way, without magic and by pollinating one plant to another) made an appointment for the very next morning to go over her plant samples in depth and begining planning the soil management to come. The meeting broke up peacably after the details of the work shifts, the alienage-wide census, and the plans for the eventual great granary were settled between Third and Ninth Hex.

Keepers Rinu and Sunahana both politely requested that the first harvest from fast-growing strain of rice be sacrificed for the festival to make food and alcohol for the event. At first, the more cautious of the Keepers were against it, but it was soon acknowledged that work would go much quicker for everything if the announcement was made they would get to enjoy their spoils almost immediately. Merrill was politely asked to use her magical skills when the time came to hurry along the alcohol-making rocess so that the vats would be ready for the festival. Abundant food and wine at the Summer Solstice Festival would be universally embraced and would probably go a long way toward soothing those who had their doubts about everyone reaping the benefits of a single Hex being put in charge of growing all the crops.

After the meeting, Merrill retired to her cozy house on the other side of the rooftop and sat out under the outside awning at the "front" of the house which looked out over the back and side of the clinic facing out to sea.

_:There's a whole bunch of terraces all ready to receive the first crop and Twelfth Hex and I will get started in the morning. The fast growing rice will be turned into alcohol and food for the festival while the rest of the crops grow in. That takes care of the granary needing to be built in a very very great hurry and me having to put all those spells on it so quickly,:_ Merrill calculated to herself. : _So I suppose things are looking up for everyone. I hope my friends don't get hurt on their abomination hunt next week. But of course, they have Anders with them, so it should be fine even if they do get hurt.:_

Deep in the recesses of her mind she felt something akin to a dismissive snort from a certain someone. She had done well enough in her council meeting, he would acknowledge her that, but it still amazed him that anyone put her in charge of _anything_ of great import and didn't half expect her to run off chasing butterflies.

_:Don't be silly,:_ she thought back at him a bit wryly. _:It's not yet the season for butterflies, those don't come for another month or so.:_

His point precisely was that she utterly had missed the point.

_:Oh I caught what you think of me just fine,:_ she thought back, enjoying the calm evening. _:I pick up on more than you give me credit for you know, I just don't always understand it. That's because you're weird. The whole lot of you city-elves. So strange.:_

She felt another tolerant snort. She was just too Dalish, that was all.

Merrill tipped her head back and looked out at the stars twinkling over a dark sea and enjoyed the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs below her, allowing a feeling of peace and contentedness to settle over her and echo down the link at Fenris. Dalish or not, he should really take more time out to enjoy the quieter things. To which the man at the end of her bondlink replied that it was a difficult thing to manage when a certain witch was usually anything but quiet. Merrill smiled and wished him luck on his hunt, then went inside to eat the food that had been left for her, secure in the knowledge that soon the Alienage would be well on its way to having an abundance more of it. Soon the whole clan would never have to worry about going hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After having done a little (very little) research on gene-modded foods, it still doesn't cease to amaze me what we can do and how far we've come. I know a lot of people have their worries over it but seriously... look up the plant called "ketchup and fries" and prepare to have your mind blown.


	51. Chapter 51

"We must help them," Aveline said, fastening on the last of her plate.

"No argument here Red," Varric said.

"I thought we agreed you were not going to call me that," she said, taking up her shield.

" _You_ agreed," The dwarf qualified, hefting his beloved Bianca onto his shoulder. " _I_ said nothing of any sort."

"That's just what I said," the guard-captain said a bit playfully as they rushed out.

The sound of screams from those who had been attacked joined the general confusion. Parties of hunters armed up quickly and headed to where the abominable varghest was crashing his way through the camps. They made their way quietly through the forest, keeping a weather eye out for the horrors and ghasts that haunted the hills at night.

_:Terrors and the spirits of warriors who died in the war thousands of years ago who don't understand that they are dead, still looking for the war they fought.:  
_ Fenris thought with what might have been a distant sort of pity though most of his concentration was, as ever, on ways to destroy what came into his path as an enemy. 

Of course, right when they didn't want them was the time they showed up. Trembling up from the stones and clacking and moaning with envy for those who still drew breth, still felt love, still experienced the world that they'd long since been separated from. The larger party made shorter work of them than they usually did. Having two archers supported by a mage really dealt out heavy damage. Fenris found that could disrupt their "presence" on this side of the Veil with a slight variation on the Templar trick he'd learned. The maneuver banished the spirit-creatures back across the Veil with all but a touch. The incorporeal inimical spirits were not so difficult to deal with, it was when they decided to possess local trees or wildlife that they became a _real_ challenge.

_:I had never known that a squirrel could look that terrible until I came here,:_ Fenris thought, knocking aside one of the mutant-huge, possessed squirrels whose eyes glowed unnervingly in the dim light of the forest.

At last they reached the camp grounds in the valley below, which was looking less now like a camp and more like the site of a slaughter.

:Or perhaps in this case, a smokehouse.,: Fenris thought, trying to paint it in a slightly better light.

The cries of terror were a shrill counterpoint to the pain-filled moans of the wounded and the dying. Wraiths marched over the still-living wounded, ignoring their cries of pain with the remorselessness of that which was already dead. The Varghest inhabited one side of the camp, tearing its way through those few remaining on that side that tried to stand against it. The wraith- army marched through the other side of the camp, summoned from down the mountains by the call of thier new master. The small knot of defenders was now fighting a war on two flanks. They had to keep mobile so they could remain alongside the flanks of the varghest so that they could avoid the incinerating flames that came out of the creatures mouth, and try to defend themselves from the small horde of undead attackers bent on killing them all.

Most of the able-bodied had chosen to ignore the varghest in the interests of dragging out as many of the wounded as they could reach without entering the range of the varghest or its little army of undead.

"This is a massacre," Varric said, firing off an opening round from Bianca to introduce her to the enemy.

"Do you mean us, or them?" Hawke asked, fading into invisibility so that he could go and shank the wraiths from the thick of things.

"Stay behind me you two," Fenris reminded them both, pulling out his sword and rushing alongside Aveline directly where the wraiths were thickest.

She stood as a steady bulwark, keeping their attention while Fenris lay about with his great sword, reaping them in swings. Sebastian picked stragglers from the sidelines while Varric laid out traps, and the two dueling rogues hit their targets on their weakest points with gleeful murder. They worked like a well-oiled machine, winnowing the ranks. The ranks however, refused to _remain_ winnowed, as the enemies they'd just felled were revived at the varghest's call.

"This is getting us no-where!" Fenris felt obliged to point out.

"I have an idea!" Hake called. "We'll use your Templar trick to disperse the spirits animating them, Fenris. That should keep them down. Aveline, you've got his back, keep them from getting around to hs flanks. The rest of us will herd them in so Fenris can put them down permanently."

"What about the Varghest?" Varric pointed out. "It's not exactly like we can ignore it."

As if to emphasize the story-tellers point, the varghest gave another bone0shivering roar and more of the fallen rose up once again and started marching with undead determination to the creatures side. The night was lite by gasflame blue light, eerie and nightmarish in its cold fire.

"Let him chase the others for now," Hawke decided, making the choice to handle what ould be handled and prioritizing immeditae gains in preparation for long-term advantage.

Fenris approved, though he knew his witch would not have, were she here. She would have foolishly spent herself trying to save both, and rushing ino situations that were untenable without proper management.

"We'll get to him," the Champion promised them.

Fenris flared his markings in preparation for the winnowing ahead, attuning his power and readying his "Templar trick." Aveline took up position guarding his back and the rogues took the flanks; one bow and one daggers on one flank, another set on the other flank. The quick and clever rogues, with their daggers and their bows quickly herded the wraiths into a killbox, taking down those stragglers who played at trying to escape with an grace and ease that seemed effortless, like a dance. Fenris flared out his markings, and pushed with his powers. The world faded to the washed out grey of half-real half-fade, where he pushed with his will, asserting reality over teh mutability of the Fade. The pull of the too-physical world thinned the connection that beings of pure Spirit held there, and a further nudge dispersed the Spirits animating the corpses and sent them back across the Veil. With each foe, Fenris phased his fist in, mind-blasted with a twist of magic to reaffirm the reality of death within the wraith, and the wraith dropped into a pile of bones at his feet, the animus dispersed.

It felt like it took forever but they got them down to only a few wraiths left, when the threat that they had been ignoring up until now decided to make itself a nuisance again. The varghest called for even more reinforcements.

"We need to find a way to shut him up," Hawke called.

"Isn't that what we're here for?" Isabella asked. "And hopefully, I'll get some profit out of this. I'll bet I can sell his carcass for some money!"

"How shall we do this?" Aveline asked.

"Yeh, he's dangerous at both ends," Varric said.

"Stay out of range for now, but keep him focused on us. We'll have to figure him out before we go in there," Hawke decided. "Let's at it lads!"

Sebastian, Varric and Anders stayed in the back of their formation, disrupting the creature's concentration from a distance with elemental blasts and stining arrow strikes. Fenris rather wished a bit that the witch had been the one they'd brought along instead of the Healing mage. Though he despised her practice of it, when she chose to exert her inimical magics even he could not deny that the girl was a force to be reckoned with. Aveline waited until the beast had committed fully to an attack, then sidestepped and interrupted it, while Hawke and Isabella darted in from the sides to land quick jabs along its flank in all of its most critical areas. Finally Fenris, tiring of taking little pot shots, rushed at the great varghests tail, grabbed onto the end so that he could climb up its back. Inch by grasping, struggling inch, Fenris crawled up int hindquarters, dodging as best he could, all the attepts of the creature to dislodge him, or take chunks out of his hide.

"Fenris! What are you doing?!" Hawke called. "That thing could swallow you in two bites!"

Fenris ignored him and kept climbing, phasing his hand partway into the creatures flesh to ensure his grip remained true.

"Well it looks like Broody isn't interested in waiting around," Varric remarked.

"Keep that thing's attention!" Hawke snapped. "And try not to hit our favorite frosty idiot!"

The party had been running a game of keeping just out of range and enraging the beast, but now they closed in from all sides, detirmined to distract the creture fromt he real danger... Fenris. He heard the whistle of arrow after arrow from Sebastion end with a soft thunk on the creatures side. He ducked his head as lightning struck and ignored the sharp smell of burt earth, sheilding his eyes even as he climbed higher. Anders was trying to keep the beast blinded. Warcries from the two rogues who darted in and out of range, the smell of smokebombs and all of the most dangerous weapons they had in thier arsensals scented the air. His friends were giving thier all to buy him his chance.

:I must make this count,: he told himself as he dug in along its spine. :I'll only get one shot, so I must find the center!:

Fenris attuned to his markings and listened as the Templars did, trying to sort out where the noise was strongest. There... right between its shoulderblades in the middle of its torso! Fenris hung on with his legs and one hand, drawing his gauntleted fist back and pulling raw power into his fist through the fade. bluefire burned through his skin and the air shivered.

:One shot, make it count....:

"Now!" he screamed.

He phased his whole arm out of one world and partly into the next. Reality blurred and stilled around him. The elf plunged his fist through the semi-solid flesh of the varghest beneath him, then flared out with his markings, disrupting the hold that the spirit inhabiting the beast had on the world of the living. The disruption shockwave separated the Spirit from its prison of flesh. The Spirit went back beyond the veil, taking its spirit-powers with it, and all that was left was the varghest itself.

"It's weakened!" Fenris called. "Do as you must."

Hawke and Isabella closed in on the sides while Sebastian and Varric pinned it down with cover-fire. Aveline shield-bashed it senseless. Fenris, however, was in possession of the best weapon for the job and was placed in just the right spot to do it and see it done. Tiredly, he clung to the creature with his legs and knees even as it heaved and bucked beneath him, and reached for teh handle of his greatsword still strapped across his back, all but useless in the battle until then. Fenris pulled out the great blade and pointed his sword directly down the vulnerable, exposed back of the varghests neck. With a firm, decisive sharp stroke, the Lyrium warrior shoved his greatblade downward, execution-style killing the troublesome creature. Habitually, and just because he liked to be certain his work was thorough, Fenris gave a short, jerking twist to push the matter home.

They were gasping, bloody and covered in sweat form their nights work. As a party, they collapsed to thier knees, panting and resting against the corpse of the monster they'd just slain, exchanging triumphant looks for their hard-won victory. Fenris leaned against the pommel of his sword where it still rested in front of him skewered through the beast.

"Well... that was something," Aveline said, quietly.

It took a minute for the rest of the camp to realize that the beast was indeed dead, but when the sun rose behind them to reveal that they stood victorious over the corpse of their fallen foe, a ragged cheer went up among all of those still capable of feeling anything over the victory.

"Three cheers for the Champion of Kirkwall!" someone shouted.

"Victory to the Champion! To the Viscount!" others cried.

For the first time in a while, Fenris felt a bit _miffed_. He looked down at where _his_ sword had skewered through the varghest, and _his_ power had dispersed the spirit inside, making it possible for them to kill it at _all_. Sure, Hawke and the others had helped, but in this case, Fenris had done most of the heavy lifting!

Fenris' scowl of outrage must have shown on his face for Sebastian said

"Don't take their mistake the wrong way, brother. They're simply not accustomed to seeing past the surface, we know that your light shines brightest in the Makers eyes."

"Hey, you want to make everyone have to elect the first elven Viscount?" Isabella said mischievously. "After all, our broody companion _did_ do a lot of the work."

"Fun as it sounds, it'd never happen," Hawke said shaking his head a bit sadly.

The Champion turned to Fenris, apologetic look on his face.

"You know that, right?"

Fenris scowled, but shrugged, accepting it stoically.

"Such is the way of the world," he agreed with a one-shouldered shrug.

He was long past accustomed to the world being a very very unfair place. He took his profits and pleasures where he could and shouldered the rest.

"I promise you that as long as I'm Viscount, I won't let Kirkwall run any Purges on the Alienage," Hawke swore. "And I'll try to do what I can to make things better for elves in the city, but you know people will only accept so much."

"Then I shall have to count myself satisfied with that Hawke," Fenris replied with a reassuring look at his friend. "Oh, and I want whatever hoard the varghest might have accumulated."

"Varghests don't hoard, Fenris, they're not dragons," Hawke replied.

"It was an unusual varghest," Fenris said hopefully. "Chances are that it accumulated _something_ of value over the years. I still have my sister to bring to Kirkwall after all."

"Hey!" Isabella said. "I helped kill it too."

"Fine then, but this time, I get first pick since I can't be made viscount," he sighed deliberately injecting his voice with a little of the irritation he felt at an elf never being truly recognized for his service.

"Fair enough," Hawke agreed jovially.

The supposed "Man of the Hour" stuck around to accept his acclaim and congratulations while his loyal minions went off to investigate the varghests lair. Of course there were little varghest-lings, but they were rather easily dispatched with a fuller than full party.

"Well!" Isabella exclaimed upon getting their first good look at the lair. " _That's_ more like it!"

Fenris didn't know what kind of Spirit had possessed the beast, but apparently it had had very good taste in treasure. The varghests horde was almost on par with the pile of loot they'd found at the end of their expedition into the Deeproads. Fenris had little to no interest in the parts of the treasure that were obviously artifacts (and probably a number of them magical), he'd leave those to the appraisers in the group to get maximum value from. He mostly wanted the coin, which could be spent readily, and the jewelry that could be easily broken down into items of value. 

They spent an enjoyable day sorting treasure, and Fenris knew right away what he intended to do with some of his share... he would finally be able to purchase safe passage for his sister Varania to come to Kirkwall.

_:And still have a sizeable pile left afterward,:_ he thought he thought in private delight.

He considered for a moment perhaps buying the "abandoned" mansion he lived in outright, but then he remembered the by ancient law, elves were not actually allowed to own property in the city; all they could do was rent it, and transfer the ownership of that rent to their heirs. The only places that the elves could rent property was, of course, in the alienage.

_:Perhas with Hawke as Viscount that will all change,:_ Fenris thought with a twinge of what might be called optimism. _:I may get to be a property owner and man of means yet.:_

And... if he could purchase his citizenship, it was possible that he would never need to fear "repossession" by his former master again. It would be looked upon as kidnapping, and that sort of thing was frowned upon, especially when the kidnapee was a close friend of the Captain of the Guard.

It was with a strangely lighter heart, and a heavier back, that the Tevinter Fugitive made his way back to Kirkwall with his friends. The summer Solstice Festival in the Alienage was to take place in another day or two, and he felt that pehaps for the first time in all of his life that maybe he should celebrate his victories while he could. After all, he was a free man.


	52. Chapter 52

Merrill's house had been unconscionably invaded that morning and she wasn't quite certain how to get rid of her guests without offending them. It was the morning of the Solstice festival and she had planned on putting on the nicest of her simple healing robes and making a simple round of the Hexes in the Alienage on foot, connecting the fountains and distributing the first lot of Magestones after the First Hex Keeper had made his opening speech. It seemed that her simple designs were not at _all_ what the rest of the Alienage (read _certain Keepers_ ) had had in mind.

She'd been sleeping peacefully when Keeper Sunahana, Keeper Moira and Keeper Rinu had let themselves in (along with another female pulled from somewhere in the Alienage) and had set themselves up in her living room! Merrill wasn't about the weird territorial possessiveness that most city elves developed about their homes, but there were certain standards of polite behavior observed by all people.

"Ah good!" Sunahana had said when Merrill had poked her nose out in her dressing gown to see what all of the noise was about. "You're awake!"

There was a hearty breakfast being cooked in her kitchen by partied uninvited to her home, and Sunahana, Moira and Rinu had laid out a number of different pre-sewn garments on every surface of her living room. They all had long, draping butterflied sleeves that feel to the floor, several layers of robes that folded right over left and were secured closed by wide sash-belts that covered from just below the breasts to the top of the hips in the ancient elven style. They were all in varying shades of white and green.

"Excuse me?" Merrill questioned hesitantly as the impromptu maid her uninvited guests had brought along with them herded her to the table and sat her down to a meal of eggs, hashed browns, griddle cakes and toast.

"What's going on here?" Merrill asked bewildered by the gathering that didn't seem to be paying her much mind, but was instead fussing over the piles of fancy clothes. "Don't you all have _things_ to be doing in your _own_ Hexes? Today is the big day of the Festival."

"We have Firsts, my dear," Sunahana said absently while she and Moira compared one wide sash-belt to one robe and shook their heads in negation, obviously deciding against something, but Merrill had no idea what.

"What I mean to say is... what _is_ all this?"

She gestured around to encompass her entire living-room now festooned with drapes of fancy green and white garments with patterns of embroidery and beading and all sorts of fancy whatnot on them.

"We have to get you ready for your big day!" Rinu said with excited cheer. "It's not just an extra special day for you, but for the whole Alienage!"

Over breakfast Merrill was informed of what her role in the upcoming Festival was going to be, and exactly how they wanted it performed by her.

Keeper Sunahana, it seemed, (possibly because she was the Matchmaker and had made her living on planning and arranging weddings) had developed a taste for pomp and circumstance. In this particular circumstance, it seemed that none of the other Keepers had decided to reign her in, and so she'd come up with a pomp that would probably rival any Chantry Great.... Speechmaking (or whatever it was the women in the tall, funny hats did when they decided to make a big occasion).

Merrill was going to be dressed in the special robes (modeled after the depictions of Ancient Elven Robes that Moira _swore_ she had illustrations of) that Fifth had spent the last week assembling. All seven layers of it! Then they were going to seat her on a palanquin heaped high with flowers and strung with silk banners. The Keeper-General then, instead of making his speech at the First Hex as was customary, was going to start the speech at her Hex by officially re-instating Thirteenth Hex as an official Hex in the Alienage and announce that the fountains would be connected that day. That was going to kick off the procession that Sunahana had planned through each of the Hexes in the Alienage.

Merrill listened with a sinking feeling of dismay to the details of all that Keeper Sunahana had planned for her procession. There were going to be little elven boys and girls with baskets of flower petals spreading them in front of the way, followed by a row of elven men with tall poles holding one banner each of all of the hexes. This would be followed by musicians playing music and then by a number of elves dancing in time with long silk streamers and acrobats tumbling. Then would come Merrill's palanquin where she would sit, dignified and displayed, until they came to rest in the central courtyard of each hex. Merrill would connect the fountains and they would pour water for the "first" (official) time (as she and Keeper Rinu had already tested them for soundness and flushed out the system of whatever lingering dirt and detritus might have been missed). Merrill would then dispense her magestones to anyone who came forward for one and place the rest in the basin in the fountain.

And that wasn't the end of it, ohhhh no. Not by a long shot. The procession, once done connecting all of the fountains and dispensing magestones, would for the most part, disperse, but Merrill's job as _blessed display-piece_ wasn't over with. She would remain on the palanquin and be taken to each hex in the Alienage where they had a particular event planned. She would be expected to preside over the event, dispensing special prizes to the winners. She didn't catch all of the events as Sunahana listed them off... something about Sixth holding a Flower-duel (whatever that was) and Eight holding a singing crystal symphony... but Merrill knew right away that it was going to be a long day.

_:I really want to refuse,_ : Merrill thought, not at all liking the idea of being stuffed into formal robes and literally paraded around for everyone to see.

She knew, however, how much effort the Keepers had gone to to make this a truly special occasion, and how much it meant to everyone in the Alienage to have fresh running water and sanitation and cleanliness when for so long they'd lived in sickliness and squalor. It really wasn't about her, it was a celebration for the _Alieange_ , a symbol of their taking some of their pride and dignity back.

It was for that reason that Merrill silenced her protests and let Sunahana and Moira wrap her layer by layer in the complicated robes they'd devised, with fancy embroidery and bead-work over every inch of them. She let the maid brush out her lengthening brown hair and then braid all of it into tiny braids with green and white beads on the ends. She let Keeper Rinu paint her face with powders, and let them all add on whatever last finishing touches they felt she needed. Then let them all help her downstairs and put her into her palanquin where she would be expected to sit in state for the whole day. Said palanquin was ringed all around with white silk flowers and vines made of silk and strings of glass beads in white and green. When the four elves hoisted the flower-piled palanquin on their shoulders Merrill felt she was much too far away from the ground. It got worse as she was taken out to the wide, open steps that ascended to her cliff-top hex and Merrill got a good look at the crowd that had gathered to see her Hex's reinstatement and the beginning of her procession.

_:I think I may be sick,:_ she thought, as nerves suddenly descended on her.

She wasn't currently expected to do anything but sit and be decorative while Keeper Yama announced with great ceremony the reinstatement of Thirteenth Hex as part of the Alienage once more. He launched into a grand speech about how that day marked a day that would be remembered and how the Alieange was taking back the pride that their ancestors had fought so hard for and had always meant for them to have... and on and on. The crowd gathered below all cheered at every pause, waving little banners of green and white for emphasis.

Then began the dreaded procession. It seemed that every single last elf in the Alienage had wanted a chance to come out and gawk; out of every crack and crevice in the stone, crowded along the lanes, on rooftops, and leaning out of windows, elves everywhere rained down flower petals from above. Merrill's procession danced and tumbled, played music and strewed flowers as they advanced little by little from one hex to the next. There were long banners of green strung down from third story windows swaying gently in the breeze, and tall poles strung with lines that held lanterns (signalling that they meant for this party to last long into the night) and everywhere the mood was one of festive joy.

_:It's nice to see everyone so excited, but I wish they might have done it in a way that didn't leave me paraded about like a holy relic,:_ she thought as she was carried about on her palanquin like some sort of saint-like idol.

She briefly wondered where they might have gotten all of the flower petals from, but then decided that she probably didn't want to know... she very much was afraid that the answer was that they'd somehow all snuck in and denuded the Viscounts gardens. Varric had told her not to do that.

Despite her discomfort, she did have a feeling of pride the first time she set a hex's fountain going and it gushed out a smooth stream of clean, pure water. She wasn't sure what to make of handing out magestones to the elves of that hex. Dalish as she was, even she knew she rather strongly resembled a Chantry cleric passing out blessings (only she was elven). The whole silly thing seemed to take forever as she slowly wound her way through the somewhat twisting passages of the Alieange... but everyone was so clearly excited to have the clean running water they so desperately needed that Merrill couldn't begrudge them a little bit of fun and spectacle.

_:I suppose, if they're as excluded from the Chantry and all its pretty ceremonies and silly hats, it only makes sense that they'd celebrate whatever occasion of their own they can find,:_ Merrill consoled herself, trying to keep up a good attitude about the whole tiresome thing upon stopping in the fifth hex of that day.

_:It's a good thing they did feed me that big breakfast, because it's clear this spectacle isn't going to pause for lunch!:_

At last, she reached the final Hex of that day shortly after noon (though it seemed to take much, much longer!). Merrill set the fountain going and handed out the magestones to those who wanted them. Strangely, Eleventh Hex, which was full of thugs and brawlers, seemed to have cleaned themselves up for the occasion. Their brawler-king Keeper, Kennin, was even sober enough to welcome her with some semblance of ceremony into his Hex (though his idea of ceremony seemed to involve gathering his minion-thugs together and making a ruckus while she put the fountain working right).

She'd hoped that with the end of her parade she might be at last relieved of her ceremonial duties for that day, but _no_. Her bossy "First" (who was the one who actually ran her Hex) put in an appearance, informed her what the next duty on her itinerary was. Merrill spent the next several hours being shuffled from one hex to the next.

She was called upon to judge the prettiest glass lantern made as part of a contest that year in Eighth Hex, as well as decide upon the prettiest whirligig in Ninth, the best alcohol in Tenth, and so on until Merrill was nearly tempted just to start picking at random just to get it all over with. Meanwhile every other elf in the Alienage got to wander around with food and drink, going to dances and playing games and having fun with contests of skill.

"Can't I just walk?" Merrill asked plaintively when the fifth set of palanquin-bearers showed up to ferry her around.

The lads all chuckled like she'd said something funny and carried her off to the next event. It was a melee brawl in eleventh and all of the spectators, for once, were less concerned with the pretty elven saint on display for them than they were on beating the pulp out of each other. Merrill was thinking she might actually be called upon to do her _real_ job for the first time all day.

_:I'd give a lot to get out of all this and go have some fun like everyone else gets to have,:_ Merrill thought enviously of all the festival-goers.

There were day-long events being held in each hex, as well as boths with prizes, and stalls selling delicious-smelling food, and as if that wasn't tempting enough... there was dancing! Merrill adored dancing. She was clumsy at most things usual, but she was actually a fine dancer and she loved doing it. She hadn't gotten to take part in any of the annual dances among the Clan because of her exalted status as First marking her out as being separate from the Clan. She'd left er Clan before she could stand up among the other Firsts in the Firedance at the Arlathvenn, a quasi-contest among the different Firsts of all of the clans in which they danced a complicated inter-weaving pattern around a great bonfire and the music was made to go faster and faster until they could not longer keep up. The First who lasted the longest was declared the winner. Merrill had always wanted to be the winner and bring a certain amount of accolade to her clan. And beyond that, she really loved the freeing feeling of dance.

_:It hardly seems fair...:_ she eyed the dncing going on in the next Hex over. _:And the food smells heavenly!:_

As promised, the frst harvests of rice and other crops had been donated to the Festival for everyone to enjoy. Seventh Hex had managed to keep a good portion of thier catch back (Merrill had heped by preserving it on ice and with magic) and she had been called upon to hurry along the alcohol-making process, so as a result there were barrels overflowing with rice-wine, rice-alcohol which was mixed with mashed fruits and ice to stretch it further (and make exotic drinks all in one go). The Alieange had also revived an old elven recipe involving various types of _raw_ fish and rice, which were wrapped in dried seaweed and sliced into sections to reveal colorful middles. Merrill at first had hardly been able to credit that anything so uncooked could taste so incredibly delicious, but all it had taken had been one roll stuffed with crab, tuna and maki to make a convert of her. It seemed that the making of such delicacies was a carefully guarded art. In addition, there were steamed fish dumplings made with rice-flour shells, tiny cakes of rice flour, creamed cheese and crab, as well as breaded fish fried with potatoes, salted and served in a sleeve of discarded print paper. There were little breaded balls of octopus fried and served with a sauce, filling helpings of rice flavored with strong spices and all sorts of other delicacies.

_:I want to eat that!:_ Merrill thought, eying a person walking by her palanquin with a small paper tray of those rolls of raw fish and rice.

"Well!" a familiar deep baritone said from slightly behind her.

She'd sensed him arrive at the Alienage party earlier that morning, but no-one had released her from her duties so that she could go and say hello. Fenris, she'd sensed, had spent the morning drinking and eating and winning prizes while Merrill had been passed about from hex to hex like a bottomless wineskin in a thirsty tavern.

"Aren't _you_ special?" he teased. "Touted around the Alieange like an effigy of Andraste Herself."

"I don't suppose you could sneak me out of this nonsense?" Merrill said with sincere hope.

He was a clever city-fugitive, he could think of something right?

"I think I'd rather watch you squirm," the irritating elf said in amusement, crossing his arms.

"I know they never get to have ceremonies of their own, but there's a _limit_ to nonsense," Merrill complained. "There must be, right?"

His ever-present belt full of pouches bulged with coin and trinkets that he'd won so far that day. It hadn't escaped his notice (and by extension, Merrill's) that a large number of the Alienage female population had been casting admiring looks his way. They were clearly thinking on garnering some of those trinkets for themselves in exchange for a pleasant hours frolicking, and... well, Fenris wasn't exactly hard on the eyes, it had to be admitted. Merrill could sense his smug pleasure in how his day had been proceeding through their link, and an equally smug anticipation of how his evening was likely going to go.

_:Hmph!_ : She thought, a bit irritably. _:It's fine if he goes and has his fun, but why must **I** stay here?:_

"If you've any heart at all," Merrill said to him. "Would you please bring me something to eat before you run off to frolic? I'm famished!"

Fenris pretended to mull the request over. It seemed that the excellence of his day thus far had made him what approached to playfulness, for Fenris.

"Hmmm... Get the mage something to eat.... I don't know if that request is really appropriate coming from the alienage's blessed saint effigy. Surely you live on dew and moonbeams like a proper saint?"

Merrill was half tempted to zap him. She was _hungry_! And he just stood there _laughing_ at her!

"You are heartless," Merrill groused, without any real heat.

It was rare for Fenris to attempt anything approaching levity. Rarer still for him to try it with her.

"Won't rescue a damsel in distress," she chided him a bit playfully. "Won't even bring a poor girl a morsel of food."

He looked very ostentatiously at her fine robes and trinkets that they'd all hung on her that morning and the flower-laden palanquin she was perched on.

"Oh. Poor indeed," he said dryly. "But what could be worth said morsel, I wonder."

The nerve! He was going to make her trade for something to eat!

"I don't have anything you might want, Fenris," Merrill relied. "You can't be Healed by me because of our predicament, and you don't like magic either, so there we are."

"You do have one thing," he said. "You could trade your honor."

Merrill stared, quite certain she hadn't heard him right. Then she caught the slight upturn of his lips and the gleam in his eye that passed fro a smile with him, and sensed the levity in his humors. He'd been making a joke.

"There is a contest in Sixth called a "flower-duel" and must be fought for the honor of someone else," Fenris said, bringing in the punchline. "I do not know any other of the elves in the Alienage, and a proper pedestal-dweller a prerequisite for entry. If you'll allow me to use your honor to enter the tournament, then I shall bring you your morsel."

Merrill had a counter to put him in his place.

"You do realize, Fenris, that a Flower-duel is entirely unsuited to your style of fighting. They use small, light foils in these duels, for the are contests of small, skillful movements... not the way you fight. I don't think you're going to win it," Merrill informed him.

Merrill, feeling piqued with him for taking advantage of her hunger, even if it was just in jest, did not inform him that dueling for Merrill's honor would probably frighten off his merry little band of hopeful admirers.

_:Serves him right!:_ she thought.

"What have I missed," he demanded pointedly, catching up on the tenor of her thoughts through their link.

Blast the infernal thing, it made it entirely impossible to maintain even the slightest advantage, and Merrill so rarely had a a chance for even that. She felt she should have been allowed to enjoy it for a little bit longer before he caught on.

"Just bring me one of those rolls of fish, pleeeease," she batted her eyes at him like she'd seen one of the simpering women in a play do once. "And the breaded fried octopus. And the fried fish with potatoes. Oh, and-"

"Shall I just bring you one of everything?" he sighed heavily.

Fenris narrowed his eyes at her, but to her ever-living surprise went to go and fetch her a snack (and it was about time too!).

"You missed the grand event," Fenris informed her.

"Do you mean Hawke's possessed varghest hunt?" Merrill asked a bit eagerly. "What happened? Who won? How did it go?"

She'd been so terribly disappointed when she received the word that Hawke had assembled a team that was larger than usual, but she had not been invited to go. She couldn't have went in any case as her role in the Alienage rather not precluded her running out of said Alienage to go on adventures, but she _still_ would have liked to have been invited to go.

Fenris must have been feeling more sociable than usual for he sat down near her, helped himself to the tray of snacks he'd brough to her, and gave her a detailed account of the whole fight, including how he'd single-handedly used his powers to disrupt the the Spirit out of the creature and then had skewered it, killing it.

"So then they make you Keeper for the whole city then, right?" Merrill said excitedly. "That's what this contest was all about, to decide who gets to wear the pointy metal hat and be keeper of Kirkwall?"

"No, silly witch," Fenris said disparagingly. "Though truth be known, I was _half_ -tempted to try to claim it, but it would never happen. No, since I was in Hawke's party, it was Hawke who got the prize for the victory, but that does lead me to some exciting news, for me, that is."

"Oh do go on, tell me!" Merrill said excitedly, pleased for him and happy to see him in what amounted to a good mood (for Fenris).

"The lair of the varghest had no small amount of rich prizes, and I can now afford to bring my sister over from Tevinter to meet me here, in Kirkwall."

"How wonderful!" Merrill said, excitedly. "You must be very excited to see your family."

"I..." he seemed to hesitate and Merrill caught the edge of his emotions.

He was nervous, wary, confused, and a little hopeful but equally wary of that hope in case it should turn out to be a trap of some sort. She wished he could afford a genuinely pure feeling of happiness at being reunited with someone who must have once been dear to him, but equally understood his caution.

"Well," Merrill said, immediately trying to find the bright side, despite his mixed feelings on the matter. "At least you'll have someone else besides you rattling around in that enormous old place all alone. My Keeper always said that I should not spend too much time alone, I'd turn odd."

Fenris was surprised into a snort of laughter and Merrill basked a bit in the lifting feeling that came from him with it, even if it was at her expense. It was nice to see him happy for a change.

"Oh look," Merrill added, pointing back to the main event. "They've declared a winner. Looks like it Keeper Kennin again this year. And the prize is the same as ever too; a huge jug of Keeper Rinu's finest."

"As if he needed more to keep him drunk," Fenris noted.

"You're a fine one to talk," Merrill riposted smartly.

"Oh, look who's grown an attitude now that people are paying attention to her."

"I'll have you know," Merrill said with her best attempt at dignity. "That I'm a Keeper now and lots of people pay attention to me... which is more than can be said of _you_."

Fenris glanced pointedly out of the corner of his eye to a small knot of admirers who'd been clearly eying the trinkets hanging from his belt pouches and subtly vying to catch his attention all morning. Merrill caught the tenor of his reply even without his barely concealed smirk. He had admirers in plenty

"Insipid fangirls don't count," Merrill retorted to his unspoken assertion that there were plenty enough who seemed to wish to pay him all of the right kind of attention.

"I do believe, Keeper Merrill, that that is a matter of opinion. We'll see who is superior to whom when I spend the evening in companty, and the precious Saint-effigy goes home to her cold lonely bed in solitude this evening."

"Well who asked you?" she snapped, irritated.

"Calm yourself witch," he said in as close to a conciliatory tone as she was ever likely to see from him. "Jealousy is not a good look for you, by the bye..."

She could just feel his smirk and she frowned crossly at him for enjoying the fact that he could choose not to be alone all of the time and she was consigned by her position into some sort of strange quasi-worship. Not a single man had so much as glanced her way all day. Merrill rather thought that the costume they'd dressed her in looked rather fetching, but she might just as well have been a statue of Andraste for all of the amorous attention she'd garnered.

"I'm not jealous..." She lied pettishly.

"We both know you lie," he replied.

He seemed to sense (probably through their link which refused to go away no matter how much she worked at it) how much his commentary on her state of single blessedness actually bothered her for he next said

"I have sent for my sister to travel from the outskirts of Minrathos. If the weather holds fair and there are few complications along the roads, it may be that I will see her in as little as three weeks. I confess, I can barely seem to know what I should do."

"You should start by cleaning that _sty_ you call a house, Fenris," Merrill suggested pertly, a little less inclined to be social with him if he was going to make himself unpleasant.

"I do believe that sounds like you've just volunteered," he said.

"Not on your _life_ ," she replied flatly. "You'd do better applying to Varric to set you up with a cleaning crew, and even then I'd offer them a hefty bonus if I were you. That place is filthy."

"I see that our pretty, clean little house in the Alienage with its built-in servants has made someone snooty," he replied, Merrill could sense his slightly irked feeling.

She knew perfectly well that Fenris was only one person, and it would be ridiculous to expect him to try to keep a place that probably took a staff of at least four full-time servants to keep it clean. Cleaning was not his business, fighting was. She was feeling a little bit irritated with him however, and the knot of women hanging about drooling over him was... irritating.

"If snooty means that I do not use mummified corpses as decorations, then yes," she said.

Fenris however, seemed perfectly capable of reading the glare she was sending the women eying his belt pouches... and the rest of him, and interpreting it in ways that made him even more smug than he'd been to begin with. Something about her irritation made him feel smugly delighted, and Merrill hadn't the least idea of why that would be.

"You are _jealous_ ," he noted, rubbing it in.

"I'm not!" Merrill said, irritated all over again. "I thought we just settled this. I'm not jealous, certainly not over you and your collection of unwashed floozies who must be interested in your trinkets because they certainly can't be interested in your sparkling personality."

"Now now, witch," he said condescendingly. "It's not done to be so petty. You look as though you might like to shoot lighting at those poor women. I'd advise against it as saint-effigies are supposed to transcend such petty mortal emotions, and, you'll only have to heal them again later."

"If I were going to shoot lightning at anyone here, it would be _you_ ," she informed him, crossing her arms.

"And here I was going to do you a favor and get you out of this... caravan," he said with a shrug. "But it seems you'd rather stay here and be celebrated."

Merrill's heart leapt with joy at the thought of escaping the awful set-up she'd been stuffed in to.

"Really?!" she asked, pathetically hopeful. "You mean it? You really will?"

"I've never before met a mage so determined not to make much of herself," he said with what could almost have been called a small smile. "Your modesty does you credit."

Merrill blinked in surprise, certain she had not heard him right. It had sounded almost like an unqualified compliment from Fenris.

"Oh can we go soon, please?" she begged.

Fenris glanced around, making certain that all of the attention was on the last few fights and rounds of victory toasts and quietly helped her down from the ridiculous palanquin that she'd been touted around in all day long.

"I do think you've earned a respite," he said.


	53. Chapter 53

He hadn't planned on helping her out when he'd found her in Eleventh Hex. Rather, he'd thought to do nothing more than tease her about her exalted status and then go and amuse himself with more gambling, events and prizes. He hadn't expected to feel how _lonely_ she found her position. The waifish looks of longing she was giving the other celebrants who were free to go and play and enjoy themselves as they saw fit did not, naturally, affect him one bit... or so he told himself. As ever, taunting her was no fun. Especially not now that he knew _exactly_ how she felt when he said something cutting, for he felt the sharp pang that came when his words stung her heart echo in his own heart. It became rather more like the case of cutting off ones nose to spite ones neighbor.

She looked so delighted and pathetically grateful when he offered to sneak her out of the parade she'd been finagled in to, that Fenris rather decided to himself that the Keepers and the Alienage had had enough fun with their toy mage for one day. She served enough, she should be allowed to have a bit of fun like everyone else. One of the Palanquin-bearers looked like he might have protested his setting their little saint-effigy free, but Fenris silenced him with a glare and the boy simply looked the other way just as he should. Good.

They all looked the other way as Merrill shucked off all of the beads and hair-jewels and the first several layers of the elaborate costume they'd all stuffed her into until she was wearing nothing but the first two layers of the costume, an long white under-robe slit up the sides with long butterfly sleeves of a light filmy fabric under a heaver emerald green sleeveless over-robe and the wide, corset-like sash that secured it closed just under her breasts.

"Cover up a bit more," Fenris muttered peevishly as he noted that the male palanquin-bearers were oggling her while pretending not to notice that their little living doll was escaping for the day. "There's too great a chance of touching your skin if it is exposed and we don't want any accidents."

"Oh, right. Good thinking," Merrill nodded seriously.

Which only, perversely, irked him further. Like he wasn't good enough for an accident.

"Where should we go first, Fenris?" she chirped, climbing out of the flower-bedecked palanquin strewed with strings of sparkling beads.

It rather amused him how giddy with delight she was over such a small thing as getting out of being celebrated and made much of for a day. Most girls in her place would have been delighted.

"There's dancing, and games, and prizes!" she added happily, looking around her at the swirling crowd of laughing, happy elves dressed in their finest clothes.

"I care not," he said honestly.

"What about First Hex?" she suggested. "There's a tea ceremony that they perform there that's supposed to be a replica of the one from Ancient Arlathan! Though I don't know how they would know about it, the Dalish don't have any records of it..."

Fenris made a face. He'd peeked in on it, but it looked long, drawn out, boring and very uncomfortable.

"Well how about the obstacle-races at Second Hex," she suggested, catching his disinterest. "I'm sure you'd get prizes there, and I think I might like to try my hand at it. It sounds fun."

Fenris snorted at the idea.

" _You_?" he said. "You trip over your feet when you're not paying attention, and now you want to put obstacles in your way?"

"Heey!" she said, miffed, though in truth knew he had a point. "I could still _try_ it."

"This should be good," he said dryly.

The little obstacle course at Second Hex consisted of a part where a runner hopped from small platform to small platform as quickly as possible without falling for they were tilted at an angle to improve the difficulty. Next was a tall wall with handholds built in for the runner to scramble up, then a rope swing where the runner had to manuver their swing around an obstacle in the center without touching it and land on a narrow slat on the other side that the runner had to run down. Once on the ground they then had to shinney up a tall pole, and once the runner reached the top they had to lean (or hop) over to another pole next to it, slide down that one, and race up another wall with a net over it and touch the flag at the end to win. The runners were sorted into batches of five and the runners with the best times won the prizes. 

People had been trying their luck all day, and though the course itself looked simple and short, the looks were deceptive and most of the runners who attempted it were fortunate if they made it halfway. Merrill was detirmined to make a good showing of herself to represent the honor of the Dalish (despite the fact that she was a clutz). She tried back her butterflied sleeves and hitched the hem of her long robes up around her thighs. It was a practical decision because Fenris knew how clumsy she was, but he didn't much like the way the crowd was oggling her legs. Then again, with the shortened garments that many of the rest of the contestants wore to run the course, it wasn't like there were not legs of both sexes on display. The bell to signal the start of the race went off, and Merrill, to his everlasting surprise, skipped lightly over the little platforms of the first part, which often cause a strange hesitation in those runners not accustomed to the tilt of the angle. Many fell there during their first try.

_:Some sort of Dalish thing, perhaps,:_ he considered to himself, firmly pretending he was not enjoying her shapely legs during each little jump.

The wall-climb gave her difficulty for it was clear that she had very poor upper arm strength. She managed to reach the top of the wall, but it cost her precious seconds. The rope swing though, she took like a pro, seeming to fly around the obstacle smoothly. Most people fell off on that one or hit the island in the center and had to re-climb the top of the wall to try again. The little slat she landed on gave her only a very little trouble and she managed to keep her balance. The crowd was cheering wildly by then, for it was rare to see a person who was _not_ from Second Hex make it that far, particularly a woman for some reason. The pole however stopped her. She tried to climb it and just didn't have the strength or the coordination. After three tries the buzzer went off, disqualifying her from further attempts. She slumped a bit but she was panting and smiling and happy from the exertion.

"Well done," Fenris allowed when she rejoined him at the sidelines.

"Oh! Thank-you Fenris!" she said, her delight at the compliment echoing through their link.

_:She's really made stupidly happy by the smallest things,:_ he thought, a bit disparagingly.

A little compliment, the smallest bit of praise and approval, and she lit up like a little sun. Not that her delight and pleasure were discomforting exactly, but he wondered, briefly, if she would be just as pleased to hear compliment from someone else as she would from him. His private question was answered a moment later when several young lads (and ladies too) who'd been spectators dropped by to compliment her on her run. She was just as delighted with compliments from strangers as she was to receive them from him. Especially, it seemed, the strange males, who made little secret of their admiration. Fenris found himself not so pleased by this new information and contrarily desired to remove her from competition.

"Perhaps a drink at the Third Hex?" Fenris suggested when some of them got a little too close to vying for her attention.

"That would be lovely," Merrill turned back to him, beaming. "I am thirsty."

Fenris didn't bother hiding the smirk he tossed back at the other young men as he led the mage away for the drink he'd promised her.

Third Hex was a seething riot of noise and color because it was one of the Hexes that had devoted themselves to drinking and dancing. There had been a stage set up at one end with a whole lot of musicians playing music. Dancing elves swirled about in enthusiastic rhythm, moving in the vigorous patterns of the dance currently being played, laughing and clapping and stomping their feet. From an outside perspective looking inward, couples formed rings, then whirling knots, then patterns of four, then eights, converging inward and swirling outward, before altering the pattern to resembled flowers blooming and suns rising. It was surprisingly pretty to look at.

"They're going to wear themselves out before the night is finished!" Merrill remarked, not hiding the fact with her longing look that she really wanted to join in the in dancing.

"Possibly," Fenris said, noting how often that the watered-down cheap wine was called for, and how many enterprising elven children seemed to be bringing cups of fresh water from the new fountain for pennies to the thirsty dancers.

"It looks like fun!" she suggested hopefully.

Fenris handed her a cup if "wine" that had been watered to such a ponit that it was little more that water with a slight flavoring of wine.

_:It's probably better that way,:_ Fenris thought to himself as he watched Merrill gulp hers down and look for more. _:If that were actually filled with unwatered wine, she'd be passed out by now.:_

"Keeper Merrill!" an elf called out, clearly recognizing her.

He was rather on the tall side for an elf, skinny, with a slightly nervous cast to his features, like one of those shivery, nervously highly-bred lapdogs that some overly-wealthy noblewomen carried about with them.

"Keeper Lierran!" Merrill called back delightedly in greeting.

The young man approached, smiling at Merrill with every evidence of recognition and mutual delight and Fenris rather disliked him instantly.

"I see you've managed to escape," Leirran said.

"fenris here is very clever, he sprung me out of the palanquin they were keeping me prisoner in. Why didn't you tell me they were all up to this?" Merrill asked curiously. "You usually warn me of such things."

"And get in the way of _both_ Keeper Rinu _and_ Keeper Sunahana?" Lierran said, giving an exaggerated shudder. "I like you Keeper Merrill, but not that much. Not enough to risk Sunahana's wrath. She's smiles like she's nice, but there's something lurking under that smiling exterior... I wouldn't cross her for anything."

"I think you owe me a repayment," Merrill rebutted, smiling playfully at the Keeper. "I want to dance and _this one here_ is unlikely to oblige me."

She gestured emphatically to Fenris with the words "this one here" and Fenris scowled at her for it. Lierran, however, looked delighted, bowed immediately over her hand and quickly led her off, pulling her into the swiftly moving crowd of dancers just as another lively tune began. Far from tripping over her own feet, it seemed that the usually awkward mage was actually quite an agile dancer, she fell in line with the movements without missing a single beat. The two elves circled around each other clapping thier hands in rhythm, when the song signaled, they joined hands, then changed partners and swung around enthusiastically to the steps of the dance. The first dance was over with quickly and she was quickly grabbed by another random pair for the next dance.

"Fenris!" she called to him over her shoulder as she was pulled in for another dance. "You should join in, it's fun!"

Fenris made a shooing motion for her to go and enjoy herself and instead turned and bought a small skin of non-watered-down wine to enjoy. He didn't dance. It wasn't that he couldn't, it was just that he did not enjoy being pressed on all sides and being manhandled by perfect strangers, as well as having his feet turned into stomping boards by the inexperienced. Besides, it seemed that Third Hex's other specialty was a wide variety of foods baked in stone ovens and over hot flames, everything from sweet-fruited bubbling pies to skewers of meat to fried breaded bits of cheese and other things that tasted heavenly.

The baubles and prizes stuffed into his pouches could often be bartered for a heavy discount on food so Fenris made his way from oven to stall ordering some of this and some of that. He carried his bounty to a small shaded area overlooking where the dancers were swirling around in brightly colored patterns that felt cheerfully restful to watch. There was something oddly warming about seeing so many people, who were usually oppressed and downtrodden, laughing and dancing and living life in a joyful moment to get them through the moments of sorrow. He simply sat back and let Merrill's infectious joy in the revelry echo down the link for him to enjoy as well. It was a most pleasant thing, this.

He was stuffed to the gills by the time he'd finished with all of the samples he'd bought and Merrill pulled her way out of the crowd after her fifth dance.

"Och! Fenris, you really should try it," she urged, smiling widely still with her face flushed from exertion.

"Another time, perhaps," he said calmly. "I'm not overfond of dancing."

"That's a pity," she relied with a moue of sympathy. "Maybe just one little dance."

She turned her puppy eyes at him. Fenris sensed, underlying the look, the certainty she felt that if he tried it just the _one_ time he was certain to like it; and if he liked it he was certain to be happy, and if he were happy, he was certain to smile. Merrill wanted to see him smile. He snorted to himself.

_:Such a simple creature.:_

But, surprisingly, his thought was not filled with censure, but rather something more like a resigned and weary fondness. It was getting harder and harder these days to convince himself that she was in any way oriented toward evil. For one, she had given up the demon and her blood magic entirely and had done so in order to keep him safe. In addition, she now happily served the elves of the Alienage as their Keeper and was devoted to helping them improve their way of life. Even without this evidence, Fenris would have known he was lying to himself even if he did make reasons why she should be considered dangerous; he could sense the inner contents of her heart and her mind, however tenuously, through their link. The darkness simply wasn't there. Even when she'd been a blood mage it could be argued that her innate goodness was such that even a powerful demon had had a nigh-impossibe time getting a foothold in her soul, and as soon as it did she'd rooted it out and sent it packing.

"Well maybe you would like to go and see the rest of the hex's," she suggested. "Each one of them has something different!"

Fenris shrugged and got up from where he'd sprawled out with his food. He'd already peeked in on the going's on in Fourth Hex, which was spent having wedding ceremonies one by one. The lavish decorations and beautiful wedding costumes were a sight to behold, but all in all he would just as soon have given it a miss.

"Let's see Fifth Hex!" Merrill said, guiding him through one of the nearby carved-out tunnel-ways that led from hex to hex. "I've heard that the things they do with the cloth they weave here is nothing short of amazing and I can't wait to see it myself!"

He gamely followed her to the weaving hex and was as surprised as anyone when he pulled aside the deep green curtain blocking off the end of the hex-tunnel only to emerge into a brightly-colored garden. The walls of the entire hex had been utterly covered in long curtain-vines of flowers made out of silk in every color imaginable. Some of the flowers were even several colors at once and the green leaves of the vines had even been painted to give them life-like authenticity. The vhenandhal tree was hung with brightly colored streamers and there were poles circled round it that held banners out and formed shaded portions that were hung with more silk flowers to create fountains and bowers.

Young couples strolled through the false gardens and pairs of lovers inhabited the bowers, enjoying tidbits of food, singing love songs to one another and seemingly in general enjoying what Merrill would probably have called a frolic.

"It is lovely!" Merrill enthused. "Imagine how much time this all must have taken to make. The flowers are all so colorful and pretty!"

"Very impressive," Fenris replied, not at all impressed.

"Don't you want to go for a walk?" she asked curiously.

"Not really," he said.

"Oh... well maybe we could go on to Sixth Hex then."

Sixth hex was eminently more his style. It hosted a tournament style fencing-contest with thin, light one-handed swords in which the object was to knock off a silk rose pinned to ones chest over the heart without cutting the thread of their opponents shirt, much less marring the skin. It was a tournament in which skill was most prized rather than the rougher, anything-to-win brawl of eleventh hex's tournament.

"Oh look Fenris, there's the prize!" Merrill pointed to a stage off to one side with not only a good-sized money-pouch, but meal tickets that could be redeemed at of the cookshops in the Alienage, or even at the wheeled food-carts out in Kirkwall that were becoming more and more common. In addition to money and free food (which would have been quite enough incentive all on its own in Fenris' view) there was offered a main prize of a finely refurbished suit of armor and a lovely jug of rice-wine.

The swishy little sword they gave Fenris to fight with when he presented himself and his "lover" (it was a strange requirement of the games that the bouts all be fought for the honor of another) felt like a willow switch in his hand but Fenris had been taught the basics of the art of one-handed sword combat in his training under Danarius long ago, but it had been decided that the two-handed sword would be his specialty. The first opponent to face him was a green-eared little boy to Fenris' eyes and when he charged in, swinging wildly, Fenris conserved his strength by simply waiting, smacking the boys sword aside and then lopping off his flower as he passed. The first few rounds passed mostly in such a manner, Merrill cheering for him all the while and an increasing number of side-bets beig made in his favor.

It took several bouts before he faced his first real, skilled contender, and the opposing elf had a slight advantage in being more familiar witht he weapon her fought with. Fenris relied mostly on battle tempo and the opponents inexperience to make up for his own lack of knowledge about one-handed fighting. Several lunges and retreats were made as they tested one another defenses. At last, however, the opposing side grew impatient and charged at him, hoping to catch him off guard, Fenris turned lightly out of the way and slit the flower from the opponents breast.

The next opponent he faced was even more skilled, and managed to lop off half of Fenris' own flower before he took the other but the opponent he faced as the sun began to sink toward the west was far too skilled for him. Fenris couldn't even react but the swordsman blurred into fade-step. The flower seemed to simply disappear from his chest in a scatter of silken petals and the wind stirred only slightly in the passing of an opponent that moved so quickly Fenris couldn't even see him.

The rest of the hex cheered the loss while some groaned with disappointment. Fenris looked behind him, still surprised at having lost so quickly and unexpectedly. With the wind barely ruffling his hair, stood the cool composed form of a man in a long, white open-faced coat-robe and elegant clothes underneath.

"Oh don't feel bad, Fenris," Merrill said as she walked over to his side to commiserate with him. "That Keeper Asuya Aluethi you've just faced, and he's a grandmaster at this syle of combat. The fact that you challenged him at all and managed even to block an attack is considered worthy of a prize in this place."

Merrill bowed politely to the Keeper of Sixth Hex, who returned the bow with equal gravid courtesy and returned to basking in the praise of his loving and adoring wife.

Indeed, one of the elves guarding the victory table came over to Fenris with a large drinking horn, a small sack and a booklet which revealed themselves to be rice-wine, a small prize money, and some free food vouchers. He was actually quite satisfied with this and they meandered off to seventh Hex. Seventh Hex was long and rather narrow, being built entirely along the Alienage harbor. The wharfs were lit up with lanterns and there were lute and fiddle-players, but mostly people sang sea-songs and clapped drunkenly along as they swilled more wine. Merrill joined in immediately and Fenris, having gotten a little bit of the stronger wine from the drinking horn in him, surprised himself by joining in also when they started singing a song he knew. They stayed there for a while, drinking and singing until the twilight ed them on to other hex's.

Eight Hex had a huge display and beautiful and brightly lit lanterns swinging from poles and bunting and the branches of the vhenandhal bathing the place not only in golden candleglow but also in mariad shades of other lights that came from lanterns made of colored glass. There was more feasting and drinking, and they wandered to the next hex and the next being handed wine and alcohol as thogh it were water. By now, there were drunks sprawled about in odd places, many of them sleeping where they fell. The best way to avoid tripping over them, Merrill decided was to go to the next hex with dancing. And so they went, Merrill throwing herself back into the swirling mass of elves dancing a reel and Fenris content to sip alcohol by the sidelines and watch, and bask in the delight he felt from her echoing down his link.

They visited more hex's and Merrill enjoyed more dancing, and Fenris felt relaxed and contented enough in the overall mood to relax his guard just a bit. He kept drinking more than he would ordinarily have done in such a public setting, for to his instincts as a fugitive, anywhere without potential allies or exits was a place where he was potentially vulnerable to attack. But he knew that there in the Alienage there was at east one person who certifiably had his back, and that one person had influence over many more. And who knew, perhaps even the elves there might take issue with someone being attacked inside their walls and come to his aid, so Fenris felt unusually free to keep on drinking and enjoying the light, carefree and happy feelings echoing down his and Merrill's shared link.

:It really is a lovely night,: he thought in artially drunken reflection, gazing at the upside-down figure of Merrill through the lens of the bottom of his drinking glass. :Maybe all of this isn't so bad after all...:

Drunkenly, he wasn't sure if he meant the alcohol, the Alienage festival or the day spent drinking food and watching the little mage dance.


	54. Chapter 54

It was quite late at night when Merrill escaped the great circle of whirling dancers she'd joined in that hex and looked around again for Fenris. She found him, slumped at a table with a sizeable collection of empty bottles in front of him. He wasn't passed out, Merrill knew he was far far to wary of capture to lose his defenses in such an open place, but he was probably more inebriated than he usually got in public.

"Fenris?" she called gently as she nudged his shoulder.

He looked a blearily over at her, like his eyes were having trouble focusing on her. Merrill felt a slight twinge of concern.

"C'mon now," she coaxed. "I think you've had enough, time for bed."

"Mmf," he acknowledged, trying to rise to his feet. His quest to stand upright was stymied when he tipped immediately to one side and Merrill reached out by instinct to catch his arm, thankfully her sleeve was pulled down over her hands and they did not touch. He closed his eyes and nodded off against her shoulder and Merrill felt his attention to the world waver.

She sighed to herself.

"You're very heavy you know," she told him.

He made a soft, sleepy noise of agreement.

"And I certainly can't carry you," she added. "I doubt I'd be able to get any of the other elves to carry you all the way back to Hightown, what with the thieves and street gangs out at night along the way. You'll just have to be put up in my house for the night."

Merrill looked around her for someone sober enough to help move the great lump of muscle that was Fenris, and her gaze fell on someone who owed her a favor (and could apparently hold his liquor better than most everyone else around him). She recruited his help, and his relatively strong shoulder, in heaving her companion up to his feet, helping him keep his weaving balance all the way up the steps to her Hex, then around to the outside stair at the back of the clinic that led straight up to the rooftop garden and her house on the third story. She let herself in past the wards and held the door open for her companions, lighting the interior light-crysts with a thought.

"Sure is a fine place if I do say so, Keeper," the older man, a fisherman from Seventh Hex said, looking around him when she lit the glows by magic. "I helped shave and polish up the floorboards for it. My missus surely gave me a time about it."

"I'm very delighted with it," Merrill said honestly. "Thank you for all of your hard work."

"Where do you want the lad?" the man asked.

Merrill looked briefly over at her couch but quickly decided that, with as tall as Fenris was, his feet and legs would surely hang off the end and he'd be in for an uncomfortable night of it. The only place big enough for his lanky frame was the enormous bed that the alienage had given her. She led the way back to her own rooms.

"Through here, if you please," she said decisively.

The fisherman obligingly laid Fenris out on the bed after she'd pulled the covers down to let him in properly.

"Once again, thank you very much," Merrill proffered a small flask with a potion that would get rid of any ill effects from drinking. "This is a thank you for your trouble."

"My own thanks, miss," the fisherman said with a jaunty wave as he let himself out the door, probably to go back and enjoy himself well into the night without fear of unpleasant repercussions in the morning.

When Merrill brought another flask of curative and a feeding-spoon back to her room, Fenris was nearly asleep.

"Here drink this first," Merrill said, nudging him lightly and bringing the spoon to his lips. "Otherwise you're sure to have an awful head in the morning."

Fenris, surprisingly, obediently drank the potion and then fussed a bit with the ties to his armor. She'd seen him sleep in his armor before, but everyone she'd ever talked to about it said that trying to sleep in ones armor was _terribly_ uncomfortable. Merrill would feel bad for leaving her inebriated guest uncomfortable, so she supposed there was no harm in helping him out of his plate so long as she was careful. Since he was covered in padded cloth underneath, Merrill saw little problem with unlacing the straps and pulling off his chestpeice, pauldrons, greaves and shinguards. He could handle those gauntlets himself as there was far too much danger of an accidental touch, even with her sleeves pulled over her fingertips.She worked the lacing loose and slid them off from him, with his half-asleep assistance, and piled the fittings on the chest at the foot of the bed where he would be sure to find it in the morning.

Merrill sensed his discomfort at the closed-in and oppressive feeling of the shut-up room, and thoughtfully opened the window to let the sea-breeze in to air out the somewhat stuffy room. She then tucked him in by tugging the blanket over him so he could sleep comfortably. As she leaned over to finish tucking him in, a gauntleted hand seized her cloth-covered wrist and pulled her off balance.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, a bit nettled as she both fell and was pulled forward into bed.

In all the time she'd known him, she'd come to take Fenris' great strength for granted. She was accustomed to seeing him use it on the battlefield, swinging a maul or a massive, heavy greatsword around as he fought, but she'd never given much thought to the kind of strength it would require for him to wield the weapons with as much skill as he did. Merrill tried to pull away from his grip, only to discover that a hand that could grip a maul hard enough to swing it with force to knock down his enemies could certainly hold her paltry little strength with very little difficulty. Roused by her defensive instinct, magic flared up within her, but Merrill stopped herself before she could turn it to use. Fenris was her friend and he wouldn't hurt her, he was just sleepy that was all. She _did_ still find it discomforting and a little unnerving when he simply pulled her wherever he pleased as though she were made of nothing more than feathers and fluff!

"Fenris, have a care!" she scolded him softly, trying to wriggle gently out of his grasp.

He wasn't hurting her, but likewise it quickly became clear that she wasn't going anywhere either.

"Fenris, wake up!" she tried again. "Honestly, this is no way to abuse a woman's hospitality. I should have let you pass out in the streets, now let go!"

He grumbled a bit, still half asleep and all drunk, then turned a bit to make himself more comfortable and hauled her up into the bed with him, tangling her firmly in the bedcovers. Merrill froze, hoping frantically that with all of the bedding, the full-body under-padding for his armor, _and_ her great long robes that she'd donned for the day, that there was not going to be any accidental skin to skin contact. Fenris, mostly passed out by then, made himself more comfortable by pulling her up onto his chest, wrapping his arms firmly around her back, and even crooking a leg across her own to pin her firmly where he'd put her. She looked almost fearfully at the open patch in his chest-padding that revealed a few lit-up lines of lyrium glowing against his skin. It felt like it was a mere breath away from the bare skin of her face and an eternity bonded to the irascible elf who was, to the best of her knowledge, never pleased with _anything_.

 _:But... it does look, oddly pretty,:_ Merrill thought, allowing herself the rare luxury of examining the lyrium branded into his skin.

It looked as pale as moonlight, but with a slightly bluish cast to it. Mostly she only ever saw the ones in his chin when they were inactive and they reflected back the light a bit like moonstones. Glowing softly there in the dark, they did not look nearly so threatening as they could when he used them on the battlefield to rip the hearts of his enemies right out of their chests. In fact, they were quite beautiful in an odd sort of way. Having lived with vallasliin for all of her life, Merrill was rather predisposed to find such marking attractive, and had never been able to fully understand why Fenris disliked them so. They looked restful rather than dangerous, and seemed to exude and aura of peace like a little song.

In fact...

 _:All of him is **humming**!:_ she thought to herself in amazement.

She hadn't noticed it at first being as preoccupied as she'd been with the thought of being accidentally bonded to Fenris due entirely to his drunken shenanigans. His whole body was humming softly, to a strange song that that whispered just underneath the edge of her hearing. She could feel her own magic within her reacting to it, resonating with it and purring softly to life within her.

 _:It feels... nice,:_ she thought a bit distantly, letting the strange sensations flow through her. _:Sort of warm and peaceful, like bathwater or having my hair brushed.:_

At the places where their bodies were pressed together, even separated by a protective layer of cloth, Merrill could feel the currents of her own magic roiling and welling up withing her without her having summoned it through the Fade. The force of magic built into an almost palpable pressure, pushing against her inner magical containment-barriers and reaching out, trying to harmonize with the song of his lyrium. It felt as through the lyrium-song caged within his flesh was _pulling_ at her, trying to bring her magic closer to it, to attune their individual magical songs into one harmonious whole, and Merrill didn't know what would happen if it succeeded.

:It just feels so nice, so relaxing!: She thought as the feeling of thier inner magics begining to resonate lulled her into a sleepy, feeling of lassitude. :I feel like I could just lay here and let that warm, peaceful feeling take over and everything would be fine...:

Her eyes closed a bit as she started to relax fully when abruptly her instinct to flee kicked in as the memory of what she stood to loose reared up from her mind. Everything would _not_ be fine. If she accidentally touched him, or his lyrium pulled her magic in, or _whatever_ was going on there, she'd have to put up with him for the rest of her life! True, he seemed to have been getting a bit better lately, but he still was not Dalish, and he still could not call her by her proper name, and she still wanted to _not_ be bonded to him, and she was pretty sure that, inebriation aside, he felt the same way.

Merrill wriggled a bit to see if she could loosen her way out of his embrace but feared to move too violently lest that patch of bare skin should get any closer to her own.

 _:This is all your fault!:_ she thought irritatedly at the sleepy and oblivious Fenris, who, if anything, only gripped her tighter with his freakishly strong arms.

In fact, if Merrill didn't know better, she could have sworn that Fenris was actually trying to... cuddle with her. Those were two things that simply did not seem like they belonged together; Fenris and cuddling. He had all the pleasant personality of an angry porcupine most days and she could not imagine anyone in the world less suited to snugly gestures of affection.

 _:And really what's gotten into the man?:_ she wondered as she very carefully tried to pry his arm off from her so that she could escape his grasp. _:Aside of a lot of alcohol...:_

His arms were not budging. Merrill wriggled about trying to loosen his grasp, but it seemed her moving about only made his markings flare brighter and the song of his lyrium grew from a barely perceptible whisper to a decided hum that caused her own inner magic to flare up unpredictably within her. The song of his lyrium had an indescribably _entreating_ feel to it, as though it was a lonely wolf on a mountainside, calling for it's pack, or a lost nestling bird crying out for the safety of its nest. Her magic seemed to be somehow trying to answer that call, and Merrill wasn't certain she wanted anything to do with what the reply might entail. Merrill froze again and waited and the loud hum slowly subsided little by little and her own magic ebbed from its former rising tide back to a soft trickle.

 _:I'm not certain what is going on with **that** ,:_ Merrill thought to herself as she watched the lyrium markings in his skin fade back down quietly _. :And until I do, I think it's a better idea to avoid anything that might make them act up like that again. He can explain himself to me in the morning!:_

They'd talked briefly about his markings, but he hadn't mentioned anything like this! He'd said that he'd accidentally used them to drain the lifeforce out of a condemned blood mage.

 _:Hm... well come to think of it, my magic does seem to be oddly attracted to it,:_ she mused to herself as Fenris stirred ever so slightly in his sleep, pulling her in a bit more closely and wrapping his other arm around her.

It was a bit like being caught in the implacable grip of a vice. His markings didn't flare, but they did grow a bit brighter and the calling song, sounding lonely and almost mournful, did increase. Her magic aura tried to push out in answer to the call, but Merrill checked it this time and reigned it in. Unexpectedly, it struggled against her command, seething and roiling within her, but Merrill had not become the mage she was without being able to control her own magical power. Eventually it subsided and returned to her control. The song called sadly again, and Merrill sighed a bit to herself, feeling sorry for him. By now he markings were indistinguishable from the man. Somewhere inside of him, maybe so deep even he wouldn't see it, he too must be crying out with loneliness.

 _:Well that's what he'll have his sister for,:_ Merrill replied smartly, squashing her own natural inclination to empathy.

It wasn't that she _disliked_ Fenris, but a soulbond, Goddess-blessed or not, was _permanent_ , and Merrill wasn't certain she was ready for permanent. Not with him, or anyone. She was still growing into herself, into her role as Keeper, as a healer, as a person in the Alienage and as a person in her own right. She didn't know how having another soul crammed in with hers was going to fit when she was still figuring out the shape of her own. Fenris knew who he was; every snarling, independent, disdainful inch of him had clawed and carved out his own identity against every obstacle and challenge in his way and he was very decided in his opinions. He was a man who cast off chains and fetters, not a man who embraced them. She just didn't think that who he was, and who she was coming to understand she must be, were going to fit together now or in the future.

 _:But I suppose, deep down, I must be rebellious too,:_ she admitted.

If she hadn't been, Merrill would have cast aside her mission with the shards when her Keeper had asked her to do and would right now be safely ensconced in an aravell, traveling with her Clan out to who knew what far-flung corner of Thedas.

 _:Maybe I'd already be married, or would have been married off,:_ she mused to herself.

It was a strange thing to imagine, herself as a bride or a wife. It was strange to imagine herself as a Keeper, but that's who she was now, and who she would have been even if things had gone differently. Sometime while she'd been woolgathering, Fenris fell deeply asleep and his grip on her slackened and fell away.

:At last! I thought he'd never let me loose,: she groused to herself as she slowly slipped out of his slackened grip.

Merrill carefully eased out of bed and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her, intent on finding her way to other sleeping arrangements until morning.

 _:I should set out some soap and towels in the bathroom too, so that he'll be able to wash up in the morning,:_ Merrill thought, inwadly pleased at getting to play hostess, even if it was just for Fenris.

She could hear the party still going strong far and down below, and knew that it would probably continue to do so until dawn at least. She and her staff had been brewing potions for hangovers and sickness (as well as preventative lady-tonics for those who wished to frolic without fear of certain repercussions) all week prior in anticipation for the festival. Jugs of hangover cure had made it to each hex to be dispensed by whatever granny or old man might give the best lecture about it.

"Good thing I've an extra cot or two in the loft!" Merrill thought to herself.

There was a large loft-space at the back of her house built in the place between the ceiling of the back three rooms and the eaves of the roof that overlooked the greatroom at the front of the house. It could be used for storage, but Merrill frankly did not have enough possessions, even with the Alienage elves stuffing her house with things, to worry about needing storage. She kept a few extra cots up there in the hope for guests. So she pulled down the rickety ladder step from its spring-loaded sliding rack and crept carefully up it, stooping over in the sharp angles of the eaves of the house. Even with the odd angles of the slanted roof, teh loft was plenty spacious, in fact it could conceivably be divided in half for two more rooms if she were ever to have children, or a live-in guest for a while. It had been such a long day already that she fell fast asleep until morning.

At dawnlight, Merrill eased down into the greatroom, tiptoed over to her bedroom for a quick change of clothes, keeping well clear of the bed in case Fenris was still feeling grabby. Merrill tried not to feel unnerved by the way Fenris marking now seemed to glow brighter the closer she came once she got within a certain range and she sent a quick prayer to Mythal that is was nothing more than just a strange trick of the grey dawnlight. She went into the bathroom to pull on her healing robes and then tiptoed out with Fenris still fast asleep. Part of her rather hoped that the hangover cure she'd generously given him the night before would be a dud and he'd suffer terribly all morning!

* * *

**A.N. It's been a while. I've had this and a few other chapters rotting away on my harddrive while I worked on other things, so... shoutouts to macha tea for inspiring me to pull this out, polish it, and post it where people can enjoy it. Hopefully enjoy it anyway. I liked the work she did on her soulmate fic, so I thought I'd share this as a thanks.  
**


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